THE   OVERTURE 

AND   OTHER   POEMS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   -    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


THE   OVERTURE 


AND   OTHER    POEMS 


BY 


JEFFERSON  BUTLER  FLETCHER 

AUTHOR  OF   "THE  RELIGION   OF  BEAUTY  IN  WOMAN," 
ETC. 


gorfe 
THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

1911 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,   1911, 
BY  THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  September,  1911. 


Norfoootf 

J.  8.  Cashing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO  MY  WIFE 


266955 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Overture 3 

Sky-Children         .        .        .        .        ,t      .        .        .      26 

To  Dante .  •      .        .      29 

The  Ransom.        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .33 

A  True-Love-Knot 63 

Miserere,  Domine  !.......      66 

The  Daisy-Field 63 

Truce  of  God 64 

New  Life 69 

Lilith  and  Cain 70 

Lilith :  Mother  of  Sin 73 

Harmonics     .........      80 

After  Poliziano 81 

«*  For  They  Laid  the  Land  of  Desire  Desolate  "    .        .      85 

Michelangelo 93 

Michelangelo .        .94 

At  the  Last  Judgment 95 

The  Balm  of  Peace        .        .        .        .        .        .        .99 

Spring    . .        .     101 

Demos  Triumphant       .        .        .        .        .        .        .103 

vii 


viii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Seven  Sandwichmen  on  Broadway  .  .  .  .  105 
The  Glory  that  was  Spain  .  .  .  .  ,  .107 
On  "  First  and  Last  Things "  .  .  .  .  .109 
"A  Holy  and  Humble  Man  of  Heart "  .  .112 

To  a  Poet  of  Paradox 113 

The  Children's  Hour 115 

Homo  Sum •    .        ,  116 

The  Beatitude  of  Dante .117 

Eden  Bower 119 

"  When  They  Had  Slain  Their  Children  to  Their  Idols  "     121 

The  Serpent  on  the  Hearth 123 

Guido  Cavalcanti .        .     136 

Guido  Cavalcanti  to  Dante  Alighieri    .        .        .        .137 

Petrarch 138 

Petrarch 140 

Petrarch 142 

Petrarch .143 

Petrarch .144 

Petrarch ,        ."        .146 

Petrarch i  '  .  •  ••        .148 

Petrarch .150 

Petrarch .     152 

Galeazzo  Da  Tarsia       .        .        .        .        .        .        .     154 

Lorenzo  De'  Medici       .......     156 

**  Honor  Thy  Father  and  Thy  Mother"  ,  .  .158 
Riverside  .........  161 


TABLE  OF   CONTENTS  IX 

PAGB 

Night-Piece    .        .        ,        .        •        •        •        •        .163 

Love  is  Life  .        .        . 165 

The  Pledge 166 

The  Round  of  Pleasure  .  .  .  .  •  .167 
The  Service  of  the  Leaves  .  .  .  .  •  .169 
To  an  Empty  Locust  Shell  in  Autumn  .  .  .  .170 

The  Thornapple  Tree    . 172 

To  a  June-Bug      ........     174 

Lost 176 

Hidden  Blessings 179 

Orchids.         ..........     182 

The  Unimpressionable  Bee    ......     184 

Under  the  Matrimony-Vine 186 

Christopher  Sly  Awakes 189 

The  First  Pair  of  Shoes :  Cobbler's  Song      .         .         .191 

Inquisitive  Quatrains 194 

Belle-o'-the-May    . 196 

The  City-Child 198 

The  Lesson 200 

A  Nice  (?)  Distinction 203 


THE  OVERTUEB  AND  OTHER 
POEMS 


THE  OVERTURE 

PERSONS 

RICHARD.  HANS.  COSIMA. 
(It  is  evening.  COSIMA  bends  towards  the  fire, 
which  lights  up  her  face.  Richard  leans  on 
the  mantel,  watching  her.  Through  a  door 
ajar  is  heard  a  piano,  softly  but  distinctly. 
They  listen  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 
Suddenly  COSIMA  starts.) 

COSIMA 
Richard,  I  cannot  like  it. 

RICHARD 

Cosima! 


4  THE  OVERTURE 

COSIMA 

Nay,  I  have  hurt  you!    Yet  I  meant  not  .  .  . 

yet 
It  frightens  me! 

RICHARD 
Then  I  have  failed! 

COSIMA 

Oh,  no! 
But  ... 

RICHARD 

Well? 

COSIMA  (with  a  nervous  laugh) 

Once  on  a  lonesome  countryside 
I  heard  a  crazed  girl  sing  to  a  wild  moon : 
Moon,  I  bind  thee  by  this  rite, 
Shine  upon  my  love  to-night : 


THE  OVERTURE  5 

If  he  seek  me,  Moon,  shine  bright ; 

If  he  shun  me,  mad  Moon,  blight! 

Hear  my  wrong,  and  work  my  right: 

Dead  or  living,  late  or  soon, 

Draw  him  hither  by  thy  light, 

Moon! 

I  was  a  child,  and  in  my  ears  for  weeks 
The  weird  chant  rang.     I  heard  it  in  my 

dreams. 

Then,  as  a  child  will,  I  forgot  .  .  .  until 
Just  now,   as    Hans  played,   through  your 

music  throbbed 
Once  more  that  same  low  sobbing  tune! 


RICHARD 

And  you 

Were  frightened  —  why  ? 


6  THE  OVERTURE 

COSIMA 

I  cannot  say  .  .  .  unless 
Maybe,  the  child  I  was,  hearing,  waked  up 
To  its  child's  terror.  Let  it  pass,  and  — 

listen  ! 

(A  pause.  The  music  grows  more  passionate. 
COSIMA  shivers  once  or  twice;  at  last 
gets  up  and  moves  restlessly  about  the 
room.  RICHARD  follows  her  with  his 
eyes.) 

COSIMA  (half  to  herself) 
It  speaks  .  .  .  that  which  I  may  not  hear, 

and  be  ... 
That  which  I  am!     (She  goes  to  the  door.) 

Hans! 


THE  OVERTURE  7 

RICHARD 

Hush  !    (Coldly.)    Your  husband  plays 
To  me.     Will  you  forbid  him  for  —  a  whim  ? 

COSIMA  (sinking  into  a  chair) 
Forgive  !     (She  laughs  nervously.)     Have  you 

inwoven  here  a  spell 
Caught  from  some  wizard  or  weird  sister's 

lips, 
Richard  ?     Have  you  invoked  the  two-horned 

moon  — 
Like  my  poor  love-crazed  girl  ? 

RICHARD 

Why  not  ? 

COSIMA  (staring  at  him) 

Why  .  .  .  not  .  .  .? 


8  THE  OVERTURE 

RICHARD 

My   music   tells  — a   tale.     You   have  for 
gotten  — 

(He  recites  with  ironical  gayety.) 
How  Tristan  fetched  Iseult  the  Fair 

Home  to  King  Mark  —  a  bride ; 
And  how  Iseult  loved  young  Tristan, 

And  he  loved  her,  and  died. 

COSIMA  (slowly) 

And  in  your  music  sings  the  spell  they  drank  ? 
So  I  forgot  .  .  . 

RICHARD  (calmly) 
King  Mark  ? 

COSIMA  (blankly) 

King  .  .  .  Mark  .      .? 


THE  OVERTURE  9 

(A  long  pause,  during  which  COSIMA,  after  a 
furtive  glance  at  RICHAED,  stares  mutely 
into  the  fire.  Her  hand,  hanging  over  the 
chair-arm,  is  tightly  clenched.  The  'music 
grows  softer,  pleading.) 

BICHAED 

The  spell 
Works,  Cosima :  listen,  now  it  is  they  love. 

COSIMA  (as  if  not  hearing) 
And  how  Iseult  loved  young  Tristan, 
And  he  loved  her,  and  died  !  .  .  . 
And  died  ?    Runs  the  old  tale  not  so  ?    He 

died. 

Yes,  it  were  better  love  should  die  —  such 
love  I 


10  THE  OVERTURE 

And  poor  King  Mark,  he  loved  her  too  .  .  . 

did  he 
Too  die  ? 

RICHARD  (with  bitterness) 
Aye,  full  of  years  —  at  peace  ! 

COSIMA 

That's  well. 

RICHARD 

Well  ?    True,  for  Mark  the  King,  that  sage, 

calm  man, 
That  very  calm,  sage,  temperate  man  !    He 

loved  ? 

No,  he  conceived  it  wisdom  to  be  wed,  — 
A  comfortable  course  approved  of  old 
To  purge  young  perilous  humors,   to  base 

firm 


THE  OVERTURE  11 

Dynasties,  to  console  old  lonesome  age  ! 
What  knew  King  Mark  of  loving  or  —  Iseult  ? 

COSIMA 
Hush,  Richard,  Hans  .  .  . 

RICHARD  (interrupting) 

Would  think  it  blasphemy 
So  to  profane  his  music  —  nay,  'tis  mine. 
Good,  sage,  calm  Hans,  whose  pulse  has  never 

beat 
Vivace,  —  save  when  the  score  was  marked 

Vivace  ! 
Well,  I'll  not  mar  his  music  :  I'll  speak  lower. 

COSIMA 

You  must  not  speak  this  way  of  my  .  .  . 
your  friend. 


12  THE  OVERTURE 

Has  he  not  helped  you  in  your  bitter  need  ? 
You  have  desponded,  —  did  he  mock  you 

then? 

RICHARD  (with  sudden  passion) 
Yes,  he  has  helped  me  in  my  bitter  need  ! 
I  was  lonely ;    and  he  took  me  home  —  to 

you! 

Downcast ;  and  he  lifted  me  —  to  you  ! 
Heartsick ;  and  he  healed  my  heart  —  with 

you! 
I  have  desponded;   would  he  not  mock  me 

now? 
(Again  with  ironical  levity.) 

Good    Mark    the    King    loved    young 
Tristan. 
(Heigho,  King  Mark  was  blind  !) 


THE  OVERTURE  13 

But  — "  Woe    is     me,"     cried     young 

Tristan, 
"That  ever  King  Mark  was  kind  !" 

COSIMA  (starting  to  her  feet) 
Richard,  you  dare ! 

RICHARD  (fiercely) 
Sit  down ! 

(They  face  each  other  for  a  moment;  then 
COSIMA  sinks  down,  covering  her  face  in 
her  hands.  The  music  grows  again  pas- 

sionate.) 

Hear  you  those  chords 

Torn  from  the  dumb  heart  of  this  instru 
ment, 

That  wail  and  plead,  —  yes,  triumph  —  if 
love  lives? 


14  THE  OVERTURE 

His  are  deft  hands  that  draw  them  forth  :  his 

mind 

Is  unperturbed,  bent  on  its  task  ;  whilst  mine, 
Like  some  raw  captain,  blind  with  too  much 

zeal, 
Cried  Halt !   yet  Forward !    till  my  fingers, 

dazed, 

Broke  in  confusion  all  along  the  —  keys  ! 
You  think  I  jest  ?    Not  so.     I  state  his  case; 
He,  mine  !    Hear  the  poor  innocent,  how  he 

woos  — 

King  Mark  woos  Iseult  for  Tristan !    Cosima, 
You  are  the  instrument  we  play  on,  he 
And  I :  under  his  even,  passionless  touch 
You  have  chimed  here  in  sweet  treble,  like  a 
child 


THE  OVERTURE  15 

White-robed  before  an  altar,  wistfully 

Singing  it  knows  not  what. 

(The  music  has  stopped.     In  the  doorway  ap 
pears  HANS,  smiling  genially.     As  he  lis 
tens,  unperceived,  the  smile  knots  into  pain.) 
And  that  was  good,  — 

Better,  God  knows,  than  these  harsh  jangling 
chords 

I  draw  from  the  deep  woman's  heart  of  yours 

That  slept,  but  is  awakened  now  forever. 

Cosima,  we  have  drunken  of  the  draught : 

It  works  !    There  is  no  power  can  now  undo 

Its  working  .  .  . 

COSIMA  (in  mournful  abstraction) 
.  .  .  Iseult  loved  young  Tristan, 
And  he  loved  her,  and  died  ! 


16  THE  OVERTURE 

KICHARD  (vehemently) 

No,  no  !    He  lived  !    Think  you  he  lived  be 
fore? 
He  died?    Well,  so  have  all  men;    yet  he 

lived  — 

Yes,  in  his  love's  brief  moment  he  outlived 
Them  that  bore  out  his  body.     Why,  were 

Hans 
Even   here   and    heard    (HANS   starts)  and 

killed  me  —  as  were  just  — 
Yet  because  you  have  loved  me  —  as  I  see  — 
In  this  swift  moment  I  outlive  his  years. 
(HANS  makes  a  despairing  gesture.) 

COSIMA  (brokenly) 

Wherefore  not   die  then  .  .  .  now  ...  to 
gether  ? 


THE  OVERTURE  17 

HANS  (advancing  into  the  room) 

No! 

(CosiMA  gives  a  gasping  cry.  RICHARD  stands 
erect.  A  long  pause,  during  which  the 
two  men  stare  at  each  other.  Then  HANS 
points  commandingly  towards  the  open 
door.  RICHARD  hesitates;  then  says  mean 
ingly.) 

RICHARD 

And  she  .  .  .  ? 

HANS  (with  an  effort) 
Still  to  me  is  more  sacred  than  .  .  . 

RICHARD  (fiercely) 
You  lie  1 

HANS 

(with  still  more  evident  effort  at  self-control) 
Not  in  her  presence  .  .  .  now !  .  .  . 

B 


18  THE  OVERTURE 

RICHARD  (bowing  stiffly) 

Your  pardon ! 

To-morrow  then  ? 

(He  goes  slowly  out.  At  the  door  he  turns 
impulsively,  as  if  to  speak;  but  as  HANS 
still  points  grimly,  he  goes  out.  HANS 
paces  the  floor  agitatedly.  COSIMA,  who 
has  sunk  back  into  her  chair,  sobs.  After 
some  minutes,  without  looking  at  HANS, 
she  rises,  and  staggers  towards  the  door.) 

HANS  (coldly) 
Sit  down  ! 

COSIMA  (with  wildness) 
Let  me  go  .  .  .  I  .  .  . ! 

HANS 

No! 


THE  OVERTURE  19 

COSIMA 

(suddenly  drawing  herself  up,  and  facing  him) 
Well? 

HANS 

In  good  time.     Sit  down  ! 

COSIMA 

I  will  not. 
(Hans  shrugs  and  resumes  his  pacing.) 

COSIMA  (after  a  pause) 

Speak ! 
(In  a  lower  tone)     Kill  me  ! 

HANS 

Tut,  tut !  You  have  mistaken  your  stage-cue : 
I  am  no  more  King  Mark  than  —  Iseult  you, 
Or  Tristan  he.  I  am  a  plain  trousered  man 


20  THE  OVERTURE 

Whose  wife  fancies  another  trousered  man. 
Sit  down,   I  say;    and  we  will  try  —  you 

hear !  — 

Will  try  to  see  things  as  they  are.     You  two 
Love  —  so  it  seems  —  each  other :   you,  my 

wife  — 
These  almost  ten  years  long  my  wife,  —  and 

he, 
The  friend  I  loved  next  you  this  side  .  .  . 

well,  well, 
No    use    in    this !  .  .  .     You    love,  —  well, 

what's  to  do  ? 

COSIMA  (impulsively) 
Forget ! 

HANS  (vaguely) 
Forget?    Forget  .  .  .  what? 


THE  OVERTURE  21 

COSIMA  (with  ever  increasing  exaltation) 

That  he  came 
Between  us.    You  are  right:   't  was  but  a 

fancy, 

Mere  fancy  of  an  idle,  bad,  blind  child. 
Now  she  is  woman,  and  .  .  .  still,  Hans  .  .  . 

your  wife ! 

HANS  (in  tense,  even  tones) 
Yes,  you  are  woman,  —  so  he  said ;  a  child 
Once  in  this  house,  he  said ;    but  where  — 

when  —  wife  ? 

Cosima,  I  have  sometimes  thought  the  Christ 
Missed  the  one  sacrifice :  he  never  loved 
A  woman,  never  yielded  up  a  woman 
Because  there  loved  her  one  he  had  called 

friend. 


22  THE  OVERTURE 

I  will  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  I  will  not  so  blas 
pheme  !  .  .  . 

I  make  no  sacrifice :  I  do  not  love ! 

Did  not  your  lover  say  I  could  not  love,  — 

I,  such  a  commonplace,  mechanic  man  ? 

And  could  one  love,  yet  give  away  his  love? 

If  I  gave  you  to  him,  then  I  loved  not ; 

Therefore  it  were  no  sacrifice,  therefore 

You  must  not  thank  me,  you  and  he,  be 
cause 

It  were  but  .  .  . 

COSIMA  (looking  him  steadily  in  the  face) 

Were  but,  Hans,  a  sacrifice 
To  pride ! 

HANS 

To  pride,  —  yes,  that  is  it.     Why  not  ? 


THE  OVERTURE  23 

Should  not  a  man  have  pride  ?    Have  I  not 

talent, 

Strength,  industry  to  get  myself  a  name  ?  .  .  . 
A  true  wife,  as  it  seems,  is  but  a  name  !  .  .  . 
Why,  do  you  hold  yourself  so  necessary, 
You  think  that  losing  you,  I  lose  .  .  .  well, 

what? 

What  is  best  nameless  !    You  it  is  are  proud  ! 
You  pity,  —  aye,  most  charitably  you  pro- 


Contrition,  and  will  be  —  oh,  generous  !  — 
My    dutiful    wife !    Well,    I    admire    your 

penance ; 
I  should  be  proud  ! 

COSIMA  (brokenly) 

You  are  all  too  unjust ! 


24  THE  OVERTURE 

HANS 

Unjust,  too?    On  my  word,  Fm  worse  and 

worse ! 

Will  you  deny  in  me  forbearance  next 
Towards  our  joint  friend  ? 

COSIMA  (timidly) 
To-morrow,  Hans,  —  you  two  .  .  . 

HANS 
Meet?    It  may  be.    What  then?    He  will 

come  back. 

(Abruptly.}     Good-night. 
(On  his  way  to  the  door,  he  pauses  and  turns, 
then  continues  almost  lightly.) 

Wait.     It  is  early.     (Significantly.) 
I  must  sleep  — 
To-morrow!    I'll  play  his  music  once  again. 


THE  OVERTURE  25 

When  was  such  music  ?  what  a  master,  eh  ? 

(He  goes  out.  COSIMA  stands  panting;  but 
as  the  first  bars  are  heard,  played  with  a 
grotesque  accelerando,  she  claps  both  hands 
over  her  ears,  shrieks,  and  falls  in  a  dead 
faint.  The  music  goes  on,  while  the 
curtain  falls  very  slowly.) 


26  SKY-CHILDREN 

SKY-CHILDREN 

CHILDREN 

Cherubim !     Cherubim ! 
How  will  you  dance  ? 

CHERUBIM 

Just  as  wee  motes  where 
Sunbeams  glance. 

CHILDREN 

Cherubim !     Cherubim ! 

Supposing  one  cries, 
How  shall  he  wipe 

His  poor  wet  eyes  ? 

CHERUBIM 

Innocents  !     Innocents ! 
If  one  should  cry, 


SKY-CHILDREN  27 

Out  in  the  wind 

He  would  fly,  fly,  fly,  — 

Just  as  the  dewy 

Dripping  bees 
Back  in  the  Earth-time 

Dried  in  the  breeze. 

CHILDREN 

Cherubim !     Cherubim ! 

Tired  are  we ; 
Put  us  to  sleep 

Where  the  light  won't  see. 

CHERUBIM 

Lullaby!    Lullaby! 
On  our  soft  wings, 


28  SKY-CHILDREN 

When  the  winds  blow, 
Every  one  swings. 

When  the  stars  whisper, 
Little  ears,  hark ! 

Lower,  lids,  lower ! 
Hush!  alFs  dark. 


TO  DANTE  29 

TO  DANTE 

O  thou  who,  risen  on  dream-wings  of  love, 
In  heaven  heldst  parley  with  transfigured 

stars, 

Which  for  thy  confirmation  shaped  the  Cross, 
And  justified  by  sign  the  Imperial  Eagle,  — 
Thou  who,  yet  mortal,  saw  thine  immortal 

lady 
At  peace  by  Rachel  in  the  mystic  Rose,  — 

Dante,  doubt  like  a  worm  has  sapped  that 

rose; 

Thy  seven  spheres  move  not  to  laws  of  love ; 
Red  comets  sweep  where,  throned,  abode  thy 

lady; 
Angels  no  longer  pilot  the  blind  stars ; 


30  TO  DANTE 

Clipped  are  the  talons  of  Rome's  haughty 

Eagle; 
And  pales  for  men  the  glory  of  the  Cross. 

Of  blindness  men    must    bear    again    their 

cross  ; 

Thy  faiths,  like  petals  from  a  faded  rose, 
Are  fallen  away;    hadst  thou  now  eye  of 

eagle 

And  spirit  howe'er  patient  in  its  love, 
Forever  mightst   thou   search   the  huddled 

stars, 
Nor  find  among  them  thy  once  buried  lady. 

Ah,  who  might  tell  thee  where  abides  thy 

lady? 
His  lips  are  mute  who  died  upon  the  Cross ; 


TO  DANTE  31 

And  vacantly  they  stare,  the  senseless  stars : 
Tell  me  thou,  rather,  where  is  last  year's  rose. 

—  In  eagle's  eyry  nests  a  dove :  thy  love, 
Fond  poet,  is  the  dove ;  and  death  the  eagle. 

We  grope  in  light ;  nor  may,  like  fabled  eagle, 
Gaze  on  the  sun  unblinded ;  no  throned  lady, 
Down  from  God's  threshold  stooping,  lifts 

through  love 

The  doubt  that  weighs  upon  us  like  a  cross : 
Wherefore  we  gather,   while  it  blows,   the 

rose, 
Lest  we  find  not  another  in  the  stars. 

And  if  we  in  our  fear  beseech  the  stars, 

We  are  like  lambs  bleating  beneath  the  eagle. 

—  Ah,  Dante,  he  that  drew  thee  with  a  rose 


32  TO  DANTE 

And  with  the  book  wherein  thou  sangst  thy 

lady, 

Saw  not  the  subtle  preacher  of  the  Cross, 
But  loved,  as  we,  the  singer  of  man's  love. 

Thy  figured  stars  but  shape  for  us  who  love, 

An  eagle  bearing  in  his  beak  a  rose 

To  deck  a  lady  martyred  on  death's  cross. 


THE  RANSOM  33 

THE  RANSOM 

Then  He  is  gracious  unto  him,  and  saith,  Deliver 
him  from  going  down  to  the  pit :  I  have  found  a 
ransom.  —  Job  xxxiii.  24. 

I 

"What  is  this  love,"  he  sneered,  " which  puts 

me  off 
With    words?      That    way    half-hearted 

women  use, 
Guarding   their   precious    souls!"     Stung 

by  the  scoff, 
She  answered:   "Dear,  I  think  that  I  could 

lose 

My  soul  only  in  losing  thine ;  that  lost, 
God's  heaven  itself  were  little  to  refuse." 


34  THE  RANSOM 

At  that  I  heard  him  laugh.     "  Perchance  this 

boast," 
He  said,  "thou  one  day  must  make  good; 

to-night 

Give  me  of  love  an  earnest  at  less  cost." 
He    spoke,    cajoling.     I    saw    her    lip    turn 

white 
Where  her  small  teeth  met  in  it,  while 

young  shame 

Strove  with  strong  passion  in  a  losing  fight. 
But  when  the  sated  beast  in  him  grew  tame 
And  slept,  lightly  he  put  her  to  one  side, 
Saying :  "  Indeed  her  frailty  was  to  blame : 
Did  she  not  lure  me  in  her  woman's  pride  ? 
She  had  her  will :    let  her  then  bear  the 
cost." 


THE  RANSOM  35 

He  went  his  ways ;   while  she  sat  wistful- 
eyed. 

"  Will  he  not  pity  me  when  I  am  lost  ?" 
She  said,  —  "  when  I  have  given  my  soul 

for  his?" 

Until  illumined  with  such  faith  her  ghost 
I  saw  drift  through  the  vale  where  no  light  is. 

II 

Then  in  my  dream  I  saw  him  where  he  lay 
Dying  in  his  own  bed ;  the  while  his  kin 
Watched,  and  some  wept,  and  others  I 

heard  pray. 

Their  prayers  were  like  a  veil  before  his  sin ; 
And  their  tears  gentlier  dropped  upon  his 

pride 
Than  a  cool  ointment  on  a  blistered  skin. 


36  THE  RANSOM 

Yea,  and  behind  their  prayers  he  thought  to 
hide 

From  God.     "  Will  not  His  vengeance  pass 

me  by, 
Seeing  how  I  of  men  am  justified  ?" 

He  thought Then  his  death-cry 

I  heard ;  and  felt,  it  seemed,  my  substance 
drawn, 

Even  as  a  thread  is  through  a  needle's 

eye, 

Into  his  body;  and  knew  that  all  were  gone 
Save  I,  who  clothed  again  in  flesh  and 
blood, 

Gazed  now  in  awe.    Between  me  and  the 

dawn 
Breaking  upon  far  hills,  a  woman  stood. 


THE  RANSOM  37 

III 

She  stood   before  me,   meekest   of   earth's 
daughters ; 

Albeit  beside  my  swarthiness  she  gleamed 

Bright   as   the   sun's   way   over   rippling 

waters. 

Her  raiment   flowed   forth,    living,    all   un 
seamed, 

Out    of   her   living    substance,    white    as 
pearl ; 

But  where  it  touched  her  flesh,  like  flesh  it 

seemed. 
From  under  her  bare  feet  I  saw  upcurl 

Live  wings  of  flame.    Upon  her,  face  to 
face, 

I  dared  not  look ;  but  like  a  conscious  girl 


38  THE  RANSOM 

Whose  nakedness  is  seen  and  her  disgrace, 
My  spirit  cowered,  whispering  a  name. 
So  stood  we  motionless  a  little  space, 
She   with   outstretched   arms,    I   bowed   in 

shame 

And  meekly  pitiful,  she  wept.     (I  felt 
Her    tears.)     Then    closer    unto    me    she 

came; 

And  presently  I  knew  that  she  there  knelt, 
And  spake,  —  in  tones  like  faint  familiar 

chimes 
Of  church-bells  in  a  dream  where  childhood 

dwelt 

In  joy.   "Rememberest  thou?"    Three  times 
She  spake  the  words.     Speechless  I  cringed 
the  while, 


THE  RANSOM  39 

As  a  man  faced  with  long-evaded  crimes, 
Who  casts  in  mind  to  cover  guilt  with  guile ; 
And  then  I  felt  her  soft  lips  touch  my 

hand,  — 

Yea,  felt  her  mercy  like  a  flaming  brand ; 
But  mastered,  like  a  man  that  walks  in  sleep, 
Followed  her  where  she  led  me,  through  a 

land 

Unknown,  —  woeful,     yet     powerless     to 
weep. 

IV 

Erelong,  before  us  as  we  went,  on  high 
A  mountain  reared,  overhanging  like  blind 

night 

Above  our  heads  as  swiftly  we  drew  nigh. 
Howbeit,  turning  not  to  left  or  right, 


40  THE  RANSOM 

We  took  our  way  straight  upward,  till  my 
knees 

Knocked  one  against  the  other,  and  my 

sight 

Blurred;    and  her  garment  I  was  fain  to 
seize, 

As  might  a  child,  fear-stricken  and  foot 
sore 

Whereat  she  stooping  lent  my  travail  ease. 
Up  that  way  steep  as  death  the  woman  bore 

Me  faint,  until  it  seemed  I  heard  the  stars 

Sing,  and  the  rivers  of  whirled  planets  roar. 
Around,  like  sentries  in  old  Titan  wars, 

Cloud  unto  cloud  shouted  a  thunder-call, 

Challenging  us,  it  seemed,  who  brake  their 
bars. 


THE  RANSOM  41 

At  last,  where  cliffs  rose  upright  like  a  wall, 
With  level  steps  along  a  ledge  between 
That  rock-height  and  a  chasm  of  sheer  fall, 
We  crept;    until  as  through  a  glass  wiped 

clean, 

Purpling  the  dun  depths  like  an  amethyst, 
Glimmered  a  meadow.     Song  of  birds  un 
seen 

Shrilled  musical  beneath  us ;  fleecy  mist 
Veiled  a  soft  billowing  greensward;    and 

the  smell 

Rose  up  of  flowers  fragrantly  sun-kissed. 
Concave  and  rounded  like  a  scallop-shell, 
The  meadow  spread  out  from  the  moun 
tain-side, 
Girt  by  a  forest  faintly  visible 


42  THE  RANSOM 

Through  the  prismatic  mist.  As  a  young  bride 
The  while,  who  in  her  yearning  yet  would 

shrink 
From  the  desired  kiss,  so  stood  my  guide 

Still  hesitant  upon  that  arduous  brink. 

V 

At  last  she  spake.     "The  Lord  hath  heard 

my  vow  : 

And  unto  us  is  given  this  fair  land 
To  find  our  peace  together,  I  and  thou," 
She  said;  and  downward  led  me  by  the  hand. 
And  there  we  dwelt  together.     Often  came 
Wild   creatures   from   the  wood,   by   His 

command 

Bringing  their  strength  to  serve  us.     Each  by 
name 


THE  RANSOM  43 

She  called ;  but  I,  still  lacking  faith,  in  fear 
By    night    lay    trembling,    fenced    about 
with  flame. 

So,  as  it  seemed,  our  days  told  off  a  year. 
And  she  sang  with  the  days;    and  all  her 

song 

Was  of  that  Love,  within  whose  radiant 
sphere 

She  had  been  surely  then  but  for  my  wrong. 
But  I  the  while  in  slothfulness  grew  fat,  — 
Yea,  so  soul-pampered  in  my  sin,  erelong 

All  day,  like  some  sleek  parish  almsman,  sat 
Stolidly  comfortable,  and  had  dozed, 
Save  in  mine  ears  there  ever  like  a  gnat 

The  voice  of  her  singing  of  Christ  still  buzzed ; 
So  that  when  on  a  day  she  yearningly 


44  THE  RANSOM 

Held  forth  her  babe,  my  heart  more  grimly 

closed. 

Haply  He  by  this  child  shall  chasten  me, 
I  thought;  and  sneered;   "Thy  boast  was 

to  remit 
The  curse  He  graved  upon  my  forehead : 

see, 

See,  where  it  flames  by  thy  hand  deeper  writ ! 
Unbid,  thou  took'st  upon  thee  to  atone 
For  my  lost  soul :  what  hast  thou  done  for 

it, 

But  like  a  fetter  on  the  bare  bruised  bone, 
Galled,  till  I  loathe  thee  near.     If  thou 

must  stay  .  .  ." 
"Yea,    I   must   stay,"    she   said;    "what 

then?"     "Have  done," 


THE  RANSOM  45 

I  cried,   "with  hope;    nor  flatter  — to  be 
tray  — 
My  pride.     Thou  yearn'st  to  heaven.     Go 

then !     Thy  wing 

Is  folded ;  but  still  open  lies  thy  way. 
May   one   renounce    a   thing,    yet   have    a 

thing?" 
Then  she:    " Curst  art  thou;    yea,  and  I 

am  curst : 

So  be  for  thee  and  me  one  reckoning  !" 
She  moaned ;  and  licked  her  lips  as  one  in 
thirst. 

VI 

Both  then,  foregoing  hope,  abode  together. 
But  now  nor  beast  nor  bird  came  bringing 
food; 


46  THE  RANSOM 

Earth,  parched,  crunched  underfoot  in  the 

dead  weather ; 

And   the   leaves    crisped   upon    the   sapless 
wood. 

Erelong  our  babe  died;    yet  the  woman, 
cold, 

Wept  not ;  but  on  my  head  I  felt  its  blood. 
And  with  the  hours  it  seemed  that  I  grew 
old 

Suddenly.     Hunger   and   forced    toil   off- 
scaled 

Sloth   that   had   cased   my  spirit   like   a 

mold; 
Mine  eyes  were  opened,  and  I  saw  unveiled 

That  which  I  was.     Heart-sick  and  hunger- 
spent, 


THE  RANSOM  47 

Close  by  her  side,  like  a  whipped  hound,  I 

quailed. 
Dimmed  was  her  glory  of  strong  faith,  and 

rent 
Her  robe  of  peace;   yet  she  was  witching 

fair  — 
Half    woman    and    half    serpent    subtly 

blent,  — 

That  all  day  lay  her  length  in  the  warm  air 
•  Luxurious,  but  by  night,  laughing  with  life, 
Danced  moon  white  through  her  cloudiness 

of  hair. 

Yea,  and  I  came  to  fear  my  fell  witch- wife : 
Ruthless  was  she  if  delving  might  not  win 
For  her  some  one  sweet  root;    and  rose 
there  strife 


48  THE  RANSOM 

Between  us,  I  heard,  as  if  at  call  of  kin, 
Hissings   of  menace,  —  until   I   suppliant 

cringed. 

Yet  as  I  watched  her,  beautiful  in  sin, 
Of ttimes  my  fear  was  with  compassion  tinged ; 
For   though,   mocking,    she   laughed,    her 

laughter  shrilled 

Harsh  like  the  grating  of  a  soul  unhinged. 
And  ever  more  this  voice  of  pity  stilled 
Anger,  and  overcame  rebellious  pride ; 
Until  love  might  have  won  me,  had   she 

willed. 

Erelong,  once  as  I  hunted  food,  sore  tried 
To   sate  her  luxury   and  my  need,   and 

scanned 
The  lean  earth,  on  a  sudden  I  espied, 


THE  RANSOM  49 

Shyly  alone  in  all  that  desolate  land, 
A  flower   dew-sprinkled   and   sweet   blue. 

Amazed, 

I  ran,  and  took  the  woman  by  the  hand, 
And  brought  her,  all  reluctant,  where  it  raised 
Its  frail  blue  head,  like  hope,  amid  that 

waste. 

Awhile,  biting  her  lip,  she  stood  and  gazed  : 
Then  on  a  sudden,  flaming,  me  she  faced. 
"  Know'st  thou  who  set  it  there?  "  she  said. 

"I  know," 
I  answered  —  "yea,  I  know."     "So  thou 

betray'st 
Me  unto  Him,  whom  thou  hast  made  my 

foe!" 
She  hissed ;  and  all  around  hissed  menacing 


50  THE  RANSOM 

Allies  invisible.     With  head  bent  low, 
I  faltered  back :  "  Perchance  awakening 
It  brings  of  hope."     Then  she:    "Thou 

runagate, 

May  one  renounce  a  thing,  yet  have  a  thing? 
Hope    bad'st    thou    not    renounce?    I    tell 

thee  hate 
Here  springe th  for  us  twain."    With  naked 

heel 
She  stamped  the  frail  bloom  out.     "Too 

late!  too  late!" 

I  heard  her  wail ;    then  laugh,  wild  peal  on 
peal. 

VII 

Then  like  a  meadow-mist  at  dawn  of  light, 
She  drifted,  drifted  off ;  swiftly  anon, 


THE  RANSOM  51 

White-flickering  along  the  mountain  height, 

Lighter  than  winged  seed  the  wind  wafts  on, 

Still  floated  upward;   and  when  at  last  I 

reeled 
Drunkenly   after   her,    was    gone.  —  And 

gone 
With  her  the  dream.     Yet  ofttimes  when 

have  pealed 

Bells  tunelessly  afar,  or  birds  have  screamed 

By  night,  I  hear  her  laughter,  see  revealed 

That  meadow  where  we  dwelt;   and  I  have 

dreamed 

That  I  go  ever  seeking,  seeking  still, 
The  while  hope  whispers:   "Are  not  they 

redeemed 
Who  love  ?    Be  patient,  and  thy  task  fulfil 


52  THE  RANSOM 

Of  slow  atonement  through   the  healing 

years : 

Ye  shall  find  peace  together  in  His  will." 
—  Alas  !  I  call  and  call,  and  she  not  hears. 


A   TRUE-LOVE-KNOT  53 

A  TRUE-LOVE-KNOT 

Meeting  upon  the  midway  stair, 

Said  Mephistofeles  to  Peter, 
A  parable,  you  man  of  prayer, 

I'll  put  you  in  short  meter. 

*  *  *  * 

There  was  a  Liar  loved  a  Lady  ; 

She  loved  to  her  undoing ; 
Yet  found  her  place  in  Heaven  ready  — 

After  some  years  of  ruing. 

Him  we  enrolled  among  our  minions ; 

To  her  the  blow  was  sharp  : 
She  simply  drooped  her  golden  pinions, 

And  would  not  touch  her  harp. 


54  A   TRUE-LOVE-KNOT 

Moved  by  such  very  constant  love 

And  Mary's  mediation, 
Your  Liege  wrote,  —  Deliver  him  above, 
Admitted  on  probation. 

So  like  a  bubble  that  man's  soul 

Upfloated,  and  received 
Its  robes  and  wings  and  aureole ; 

Yet  felt  itself  aggrieved. 

The  flames  of  Hell  were  hot,  it  said ; 

I  felt  them  keenly,  Sire ; 
But  hotter  on  this  sinful  head 

I  feel  her  coals  of  fire. 

She  puts  me  ever  in  the  wrong, 
And  hurts  with  each  caress ; 


A   TRUE-LOVE-KNOT  55 

Send  me  below,  where  I  belong  ; 
You  damn  me  when  you  bless  ! 

She  overheard  him,  and  she  sighed : 

My  way,  0  Lord,  is  plain. 
Hell  is  for  me,  since  he's1  denied. 

I  go ;  let  him  remain  ! 

Your  Good  Lord  frowned ;  the  Angels  wept ; 

But  the  Lady  had  her  way : 
Last  night  his  Soul  in  Heaven  slept ; 

Hers  wakes  in  Hell  to-day. 

***** 
When  God  brought  Love  and  Sin  together, 

Old  man,  he  raised  a  breeze 
Must  sometimes  bring  you  stormy  weather  ! 

Quoth  Mephistofeles. 


56  MISERERE,   DO  MINE  I 

MISERERE,  DOMINE! 

Unfathomable  One, 
Maker  of  all  things,  breath 
Of  all  breath,  spirit-spun 
Thread    inwoven    in    birth    and    life    and 
death,  — 

Whence  came  for  thee  the  mood 
To  make  ?    What  vision,  seen  by  thee  alone, 
Urged  thee  from  solitude 
To  an  uneasy  throne, 
Where  sounds  forever  the  sad  monotone 
Of  souls  in  worlds  unnumbered,  from  the  dust 
Crying  for  justice  against  thee,  the  Just  ? 

Did  darker  thoughts  harass, 
And  drive  thee  to  these  noises,  — 


MISERERE,   DO  MINE!  57 

Lulled,  as  on  storms  thy  sea-bird,  brooding, 

poises?  ' 

Or  hast  thou  mirrored  thee,  unveiled,  in  man, 
As  for  mere  vanity 
A  girl  dotes  on  her  image  in  a  glass ; 
And  so  thy  sorry  plan 
Is  but  a  shadow-show  to  flatter  thee  ? 

Or,  restless  evermore, 
Hast  shaped  this  jarring  scheme  because  thy 

peace 

Is  not  of  strife  surcease, 
But  instant  victory  in  constant  war  ? 
Or  was  thy  making  blind 
Wilfulness,  which  has  brought, 
Life  out  of  life,  moved  by  no  further  thought ; 
Wherefore,  unlit  by  mind, 


58  MISERERE,   DO  MINE! 

Thy   world   is   groping   out   of   nought    to 

nought  ? 
Master,  what  is  thy  will 

For  us?    Peace?    Love?    Thou  seest,  Lord, 
our  life : 

Does  it  thine  ends  fulfil  ? 

—  Yea,  they  have  peace,  the  strong,  the  con 
querors  ; 

While  whipped  men  nurse  their  sores. 

Yet  though  cowed  rage  awhile  may  sheathe 
the  knife, 

Hate  hides  behind ;  and  strife 

But  waits  upon  occasion,  —  till  old  scores 

Blood  shall  have  blotted :  leagued,  the  wolf- 
pack  preys ; 

But  should  a  leader  limp  or  lag,  it  slays. 


MISERERE,   DOMINE!  59 

Thou  seest  blind  love  enmesh 
The  wills  of  men :  how  in  the  baser  crew 
Flesh  hungers  after  flesh, 
And  feeds ;  hungers  afresh, 
And  dies ;  and  how  the  few 
Grasp  at  an  iris-bow 
Of  many-colored  hopes  that  come  —  to  go. 

Where  is  that  love  supreme 
In  which  souls  meet,  —  where  is  it  satisfied  ? 
Unless  the  bridegroom  conjure  his  pale  bride 
From  insubstantial  dream ; 
Or,  when  a  maid  has  died, 
Some  brooding  poet  quicken  vain  desire 
With  his  own  spirit's  fire, 
And  nursing  in  his  soul  the  dear  device, 
He  make  —  and  be  —  his  own  still  paradise. 


60  MISERERE,   DO  MINE! 

Enisled  on  heaving  sands 
Of  lone  desire,  spirit  to  spirit  cries ; 
While  float  across  the  skies 
Bright  phantoms  of  fair  lands 
Where  fancies  fade  not,  and  where  dreams 

abide. 

Then  on  a  day  the  dear  illusions  lift  : 
Sundered,  upon  a  shoreless  sea  adrift, 
With  eyes  that  yearn  to  eyes, 
Mute,  with  imploring  hands, 
The  twain  go  driven  whither  no  land  lies ; 
And  whether  side  by  side, 
Or  swept  apart  by  some  swift  passionate  tide, 
Each  in  the  bark  of  each 
Lies  bound ;  nor  ever  soul  to  soul  shall  reach. 

Time  was  indeed  when  some 


MISERERE,   DO  MINE!  61 

Gaunt,  with  averted  eyes  and  voices  dumb 

For  all  save  thee,  on  rocky  fastnesses, 

In  woods,  or  by  waste  sands, 

Sought  by  self-scourging  and  bead-mumbled 

spell 

Guerdon  of  heaven :  —  ah,  why  in  silences 
Fulfilled  with  thee,  sighed  they  for  vague 

dreamlands 
Of  mystic  asphodel, 

Who,  long  self-cloistered  in  disgust  of  men, 
Must  greet  on  yonder  multitudinous  shore 
Those  they  but  scorned  before, 
Still  in  the  spirit  carnal  —  even  as  then  ? 
Ancient  of  days,  bemoanst  thou  the  rent 

bars 
Of  sleep  ?  —  thine  ere  the  inexplicable  pang 


62  MISERERE,  DO  MINE! 

Stirred  in  their  sockets  thy  fixed  balls  of 

sight, 

And  thy  lids  loosened,  and  the  vital  light 
Flamed  on  the  dust  of  uncompacted  stars, 
Until  these  joined,  and  sang ; 
And  on  the  four  winds  rang 
The  long  thin  shrill  wild  cry  of  a  world's  woe. 
Lord,  with  unshaken  soul 
Shalt  thou  forever,  hearing,  will  it  so  ? 
Not  halt  these  spheres  that  roll 
Infect?    Not    with    submissive    knowledge 

own 

Good  was  for  thee  alone  ? 
Not  then,  withdrawing  thee  in  thee,  atone? 


THE  DAISY-FIELD  63 

THE  DAISY-FIELD 

,  Man  looked  upon  the  sky  by  night, 

And  loved  its  tender  azure,  bright 

With  many  a  softly  beaming  light ; 

And  sang  his  Maker's  praises. 

"The  sun  declares  Thee  in  Thy  dread  ; 

But  from  the  stars  Thy  peace  is  shed  : 

Would  that  by  day  they  comforted  I" 

God  heard ;  and  made  the  daisies. 

All  in  a  firmament  of  green 
Their  golden  orbs  now  float,  serene, 
Twinkling  with  rays  of  silvery  sheen, 
To  comfort  him  who  gazes. 


64  TRUCE  OF  GOD 

TRUCE  OF  GOD 

THE    SON 

Father  !    Father  !    Forsakest  thou  me  ? 

THE    FATHER 

I  brood 
New  worlds.     Do  thou  for  respite  in  long 

war 

Gather  about  thee  lovingly  the  good ; 
Ease  them ;  yet  suffer  not  the  warrior 
In  sloth  to  grow  unready. 

THE  SON 

As  God  wills. 

But  shall  there  then  be  peace  in  Heaven  no 

more 

Than  one  hushed  day  ?    Are  there  immortal 
ills 


TRUCE  OF  GOD  65 

To  come  ?     0  my  father,  is  this  the  faith  ? 
Another  peace  proclaimed  I  from  the  hills 
To  men  in  Galilee,  —  life  after  death 

In  love  forever.     Must  then,  behind  these 

walls 
Besieged,  man  ever  draw  uneasy  breath? 

THE   FATHER 

Look  where  the  shadow  of  my  finger  falls 
On  the  far  earth :   what  seest  thou  there  ? 

THE  SON 

I  see 

A  flood  shaken  by  the  winds;    yea,  and 

cloud  calls 
To  cloud  in  anger;    and  the  tusked  waves 

flee, 
Trumpeting,  in  stray  herds. 

E 


66  TRUCE  OF  GOD 

THE   FATHEB 

Is  no  live  thing 
Mingled  with  the  elements  ? 

THE  SON 

How  might  there  be, 
And  be  alive  ? 

THE   FATHER 

Yet  look. 

THE   SON 

On  level  wing, 

Calm  as  a  cloud  in  summer  skies  at  even, 
On  the  storm's  turbulent  bosom  slumber 
ing, 
Hovers  a  pensive  bird. 

THE    FATHER 

The  peace  of  Heaven 


TRUCE  OF  GOD  67 

So  pillowed  is  on  strife ;  and  God  broods  so, 
Impassionate,     above     where,       tempest- 
driven, 

The  shoreless  tides  of  Being  ebb  and  flow, 
Tuning  his  world's  recurrent  working-day 
Ever  in  larger  rhythms.     Where  no  winds 

blow, 

Yon  seabird  is  not  seen :  what  might  upstay 
Those  poised  pinions,  if  gales  slept?     0 

son, 

If  evil  slumbered,  and  sin  died  away, 
How  might  man's  soul,  soaring,  be  wafted  on 
To  higher  things?    How  might  not  God, 

ungirt 

With  strength  resistant,  be  himself  undone, 
And  he  and  thou  and  all  life  else  revert 


68  TRUCE  OF  GOD 

To  nothing,  all  having  been  in  vain  ?    For 

sloth 

Is  nothingness,  and  only  sloth.     Inert 
Were  Heaven  without  Hell's  neighborhood  ; 

and  both, 

So  either  once  admitted  full  defeat, 
Futile.     Enough  :  be  thou  no  longer  loath. 
Rise,  take  thy  place  upon  the  Judgment-seat. 
I  go  unto  my  rest.     Farewell ! 

THE    SON 

Farewell, 
My  father ! 

THE    FATHER 

Send  now  Angels  forth  to  greet 
Men,    saying:     "Come!    ye   are   called   in 
Heaven  and  Hell." 


NEW  LIFE  69 

NEW  LIFE 
If  One,  flame-garmented, 
Came  unto  you,  and  said : 
"Why  crave  to  live,  being  dead?" 

Would  you  not  answer  ?  —  "Still 
Mine  old  task  to  fulfil, 
But  with  a  better  will ; 

Asking  not  wages  won, 
But  for  the  little  begun 
Time  that  it  may  be  done,  — 

Time,  and  the  heart  to  bask 

Warm  at  a  human  task.'7 

—  Friend,  is  there  more  to  ask  ? 


70  LILITH  AND  CAIN 

LILITH  AND   CAIN 

Up  from  the  cave  of  her  despair 

To  Eden  Lilith  came  by  night, 

And  danced  before  young  Cain,  moon-white 
Under  her  cloudiness  of  hair ; 
For  she  had  found  him  entrance  there 

By  subtlety  for  her  delight. 

And  suddenly  over  him  she  bent. 
Her  breathing  seemed  a  serpent's  hiss, 
And  like  a  serpent's  sting  her  kiss ; 

Her  hair  was  all  a  ravishment 

Of  amber  light  and  poppy  scent, 
Bathing  him  in  sunshiny  bliss. 

It  glimmered  like  the  afterglow 

Of  summer  suns  on  rippling  streams ; 


LILITH  AND  CAIN  71 

Until  he  sighed,  as  one  who  dreams : 
"Lilith,  Lilith,  I  love  thee  so  !" 
And  she  made  answer,  soft  and  low ; 

And  her  white  lids  veiled  her  eyes'  red 
gleams. 

"O  Cain,  I  was  thy  father's  wife 
Long  ere  this  waxen  woman  Eve. 
Yea,  and  because  of  me  they  grieve, 

For  that  with  God  I  taught  them  strife. 

She  lives  now  in  thy  brother's  life. 
Thou  lov'st  me?     Slay,  —  and  I  believe." 

Now  thrice  three  nights  from  her  lone  lair 
Must  Lilith  the  blind  Moon  entreat, 
Cursing  the  God  who  gives  defeat, 

And  the  woman  Eve,  and  the  sons  she  bare ; 


72  LILITH  AND  CAIN 

Ere  the  touch  of  a  hand  is  on  Lilith' s  hair, 
And  the  sting  of  burning  lips  on  her  feet, 

"0  Cain,  I  have  waited  long,"  she  said. 

"Yea,    love,    I    know,"     he    answered 
"  Death 

I  wait ;  and  long  he  tarrieth  ! 
My  mother  weeps  my  brother  dead." 
Then  seeing  how  his  hand  dripped  red, 

Fell  Lilith  laughed  under  her  breath. 

"In  sin  and  death  is  Eve's  seed  sown ; 
Overthrown  is  she  that  me  out  thrust," 
Sneered  Lilith.  "Lo,  her  God  is  just !" 

Then  Cain  fled  like  a  leaf  wind-blown ; 

Gone  was  Lilith  ;  but  writhing  prone, 
A  serpent  hissed  there  in  the  dust. 


LILITH:    MOTHER  OF  SIN  73 

LILITH:    MOTHER  OF  SIN 

(Adams  erste  Frau. 

Nimm  dich  in  acini  vor  ihrem  schonen  Haaren, 
Vor  diesem  Schmuck,   mil  dem  sie  einzig  prangt. 

—  GOETHE.) 

Slowly  she  uncoiled  herself.     "  Walks  God 

here  ?    Long 
He  hath  sat  tossing  from  hand  to  hand  the 

spheres, 
Tireless.     Is  it  ended  ?    May  we  now  have 

rest?" 
She  yearned  towards  Him;    but  between, 

words  formed, 

Forbidding  her :  "  Unclean  Desire  of  Me 
Before  Light  was,  answer  thou !    Where  is 

Man? 


74  LILITH:    MOTHER  OF  SIN 

Where  is  the  Woman  ?    Witch,  thou  hast  hid 

them, —  where?" 
"  Witch  !    I  ?  "  she  hissed.     "  Nay,  what  then 

He  who  gat 
Me  ?    Was     the     Man     not     mine,  —  Thy 

breathing  fleshed 
For  me,  because  I  lusted  Thy  flesh?  .  .  . 

Worm ! 
When  from  his  pithless  prude's  embrace  I 

swelled, 

And  bare  him  serpents,  he  fled,  shaming  me. 
Him  favoring  yet  unjustly,  gavest  Woman, 
Fashioned  to  his  nicer  appetite  a  frail 
Fair  doll.     I  was  forgot :    whilst  they  two 

toyed 
Openly  in  my  face,  secure  in  Thee. 


LILITH:    MOTHER  OF  SIN  75 

(And  thought'st  —  when  I  sat  gnawing  these 

torn  wisps, 
Once  Thy  lips'   lure!  —  I  brooded  but  as 

beasts 
Which  chew  the  cud  ?)     They  fed  their  play, 

and  slept, 

Surfeited.     Then  I  tempted ;  and  she  bent 
Down  to  my  smooth  cleft  tongue  her  ear  — 

the  fool ! 

Thou  angered,  —  but  against  me  impotent, 
Them  punished'st.    And  I  laughed.    Because 

of  me, 

Went  they  from  Eden  out  into  the  swart 
Starved  land.     Yet  not  enough  curst  were 

they:  still 
By  his  warm  side  she  walked, — the  comforter. 


76  LILITH:    MOTHER  OF  SIN 

Though  their  eyes  lowered,  cloudy  with  blind 
tears, 

Mine,   which  looked  inward  to  their  love- 
light,  scorched. 
Her  mouth  drooped,  pallid  as  a  young  moon 

born 

Of  winter ;  but  when  his  in  the  dim  even 
Shadowed  it  once,  and  passed,  hers  smiled : 

and  I  ... 

I  grinned,  —  as  wounded  wolf  baited  by  curs. 
In  meet  time  from  the  Woman's  side  was 

pressed 

The  man-child,  Cain.   I  sat  down  by  him,  yet 
A  mere  green  boy,  raining  across  his  lips 
All  my  hair's  harlotry.     The  savor  of  it 
He  tasted  willingly :  sweet  in  the  mouth 


LILITH:   MOTHER  OF  SIN  77 

It  was ;  but  in  his  belly  a  close  fire. 

So  he  burnt  mad,  and,  when  I  tempted  Abel, 

Slew  him,  and  next  himself.    But  when  chaste 

Abel 
Had  shuddered  from  me  as  from  a  thing  to 

loathe, 

Startled,  I  leaned  me  by  a  still  pool,  there 
To  prove  my  beauty  safe.  And  there  I  saw 
The  semblance  of  this  fated  Tree,  their  bane  ; 
But  all  its  fair  was  foul :  grey  scabby  moss 
Mouldered  upon  the  shrunken  limbs ;  within 
The  rotting,  exposed  heart  were  things  that 

writhed, 

Intolerable.    Yet  I  looked,  and  saw 
What  had  been  Lilith ;  and  I  sickened  .  .  .  I ! 
Though  I  cast  in  defilement  to  those  depths, 


78  LI  LIT  H:    MOTHER  OF  SIN 

And  overlaid  that  mirror  with  dead  slime, 
Still  shuddered  there  my  livid  horror.     Mad, 
Then  in  the  Tree  I  hid  me,  where  I  knew 
Not  Thou  dared'st  pry.    Till  for  me,  brooding 
long 

On  vengeance  against  them  and  Thee,  their 

shield, 
Thoughts    shaped    them    of    the    Woman's 

woman-seed : 

How  I  might  come,  hag-riding  on  the  winds 
By  night,  and  lay  me  prone  along  girl-babes, 
And    lap    their    delicate    loins,    until    these 

waxed 

Poisonous,  fruitful  of  me ;  how  upon 
The  lips  of  sleeping  virgins  I  might  breathe 
That  flame  whereof  I  am  consumed,  till  they 


LILITH:    MOTHER  OF  SIN  79 

Awoke,  like  harlots  laughing;    how  privily, 
In  the  quick  ears  of  wives  o'ermuch  alone, 
Might  whisper  from  behind,  till  they  forgot 
All  for  a  stranger's  bed !  .  .  .     So  planned ; 

so  acted. 

No  woman's  garment  ever  was  so  white, 
But  I  spat  out  my  venom  on  it.     The  steps 
Of  the  least  daughter  of  this  Woman  Eve 
Have  I  misguided  :  because  of  my  false  lights, 
Nor  she,  nor  any  that  shall  trust  her,  find 
Again  this  Eden  of  still  peace.     They  hide 
Their  sin  from  Thee,  O  Jahveh,  cravenly,  — 
I  know  not  where :  I  am  indifferent 
To  such  as  serve  me ;  and  the  rest  I  shun." 
—  She  ceased ;    and  writhed  back  into  the 

hollow  Tree. 


80  HARMONICS 


HARMONICS 

Oh,  sing  to  me,  but  not  with  words 

I  may  not  know  from  lies. 
Sing  to  me  only  as  the  birds 

When  winter  dies. 

For  all  the  love  thy  true  heart  owns 

Mine  to  soft  echo  wins 
As  flutes  attuned  wake  answering  tones 

In  violins. 


AFTER  POLIZIANO  81 

AFTER  POLIZIANO 

La  brunettina  mia 
My  little  nut-brown  maiden 
Where  the  clear  spring  plashes 
Her  face  each  morning  washes, 
And  tranquil  breast. 

Modestly  she  is  drest 
All  in  a  kirtle  snowy; 
Paints,  powders,  trinkets  showy 
She  despises. 

She  wears  no  strange  disguises : 
Ruffs,  furbelows,  pelisses, 
Like  your  highborn  misses, 

All  airs  and  graces, 
p 


82  AFTER  POLIZIANO 

A  garland  of  bright  daisies 
Set  on  her  golden  head, 
She  goes  gay-spirited, 
Lissome  and  chaste. 

Often  she  trips  in  haste 
Away,  —  not  that  she  flees  me, 
But  only  to  tease  me ; 

Then  comes  back  dancing. 

Ah  me,  she  is  entrancing, 
My  little  gentle  maiden, 
A  flower-o'-the-thorn,  dew-laden 
On  a  sweet  Mayday. 

Joy  is  for  him  in  its  heyday 
Who,  not  despairing,  pursues  her ; 


AFTER  POLIZIANO  83 

Blessed  the  mortal  that  woos  her 
Adorable  dimples ! 

Mischief  ripples  and  wimples 
Along  her  lips  so  merry, 
Each  like  a  ripe  strawberry 
Or  ruby  precious. 

And  oh,  her  voice  delicious 
Might  tear  a  stone  asunder ; 
I  say,  though  you  may  wonder, 
What  I've  a  right  to. 

This  hemisphere  she  gives  light  to, 
My  little  dark-eyed  beauty  ; 
And  'tis  her  mouth's  sweet  duty 
To  rain  honey. 


84  AFTER  POLIZIANO 

Wise  and  true  as  bonny, 
She's  never  pouting  or  pining ; 
She's  just  a  wee  bit  designing  - 
For  harmless  pleasures. 

But  to  exhaust  her  treasures 
Nor  power  nor  art  is  given ; 
Only,  her  love  I  will  live  in 
Until  I  die. 


LAND  OF  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE       85 

"FOR  THEY  LAID  THE   LAND  OF 
DESIRE  DESOLATE7' 

The  love  of  woman  is  a  lure  to  sin, 
Man  said;  and  woman,  hearing,  straight 

denied 
Love;    and  with  scourgings  branded  her 

white  skin ; 
And  where  no  man  might  claim  her  for  his 

bride 
She   made  her   home,  —  yea,   hiding  her 

apart 

Where  no  man  saw  her  save  the  Crucified. 
Till  on  a  day  man,  hungering  in  his  heart, 
Came  unto  where  she  was,  and  knelt  to 
her. 


86      LAND  OF  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE 

Thou  art  the  worthier;  make  me  as  thou  art, 
He  said.     And  she :  Love  maketh  worthier 
All  them  who  serve  his  Lord.     At  the  man's 

side 

She  girt  the  sword,  and  on  his  heel  the  spur. 
And  he  pricked  forth,  the  armed  knight,  and 

vied 
In  battle  for  Love's  Lord;-  then  claimed 

Love's  spoil ; 

And  the  kiss  perilous  was  not  denied. 
The  kiss  of  woman  is  the  serpent's  coil, 
The  man  said,  having  had  his  will  of  lust. 
She  tempted:  let  the  shame  on  her  recoil! 
And  woman  bore  the  shame  :  unto  the  dust 
She  bowed  her  head;    she  laid  her  hands 
below 


LAND  OP  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE     87 

Her  husband's  foot ;   she  shared  his  bond 
slave's  crust ; 

Until  he  at  that  apathy  of  woe 
Again  before  her  humbled  him,  ashamed. 
Thou  art  the  wiser :  teach  me  how  to  know. 
He  thus ;  and  in  her  eyes  a  strange  hope  flamed. 
She  said :    Lust  blindeth :    slay  that  beast 

which  aye, 

Overmastering  thee}  leaveth  thy  spirit  maimed. 
So  man,  self-tamed,  all  a  summer's  day 
Sat  mute  beside  the  woman,  passion-calm, 
The  while  she,  wistful,  spelled  the  hours 

away 

With  subtle  talk  and  tale  and  soft-sung  psalm 
To    dove-white    love;     nor    guessed    his 
fevered  sense 


88      LAND  OF  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE 

Flamed  but  the  fiercer  under  her  sweet 

balm  — 

Till  even;    when,  long  hushed  in  dark  sus 
pense, 

Heaven  at  last  in  harsh,  slow  thunder  burst 

On  woman  wailing  for  her  innocence.1 
The  wit  of  woman  is  a  spell  accurst, 

Man  said;   and  she,  all  tearlessly,  turned 
down 

The  cup  of  knowledge,  and  rebuked  her 

thirst ; 

And  went,  a  child  clothed  in  the  matron's 
gown, 

Clasping  her  lord's  cold  hand,   weeping 
when  chid, 

Or  lightly  lying  to  escape  his  frown  ;i 


LAND  OF  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE  89 

And  all  her  wisdom  was  to  do  as  bid. 
Wherefore,  when  to  her  meek  simplicity, 
A  stranger  glozed  with  lies  the  Fruit  For 
bid, 

Calling  lust  love,  and  virtue  cruelty, 
Guileless  she  listened,  erelong  sinless  sinned, 
Still  wailed  her  lover  gone  his  ways,  care 
free. 

Who  trusteth  woman,  soweth  on  the  windy 
The  husband  said ;  and  while  she  cried  for 

death, 

Life  to  her  breast  the  Scarlet  Letter  pinned. 
For  her  babe's  sake  she  lived,  although  man's 

breath 

Hissed  at  her  where  she  shrank  apart, 
soul-faint 


90      LAND  OF  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE 

From    the   sharp   cross   she    faltered    on 

beneath; 

Till  the  man  chafed  that  so  without  complaint 
She    made    atonement    before    God.     He 

sneered  : 

How  is  it  thou  the  sinner,  seem'st  the  saint  ? 
And  she  was  dumb ;   yet  there  was  that  he 

feared 

Of  heaven  in  her  face ;  and  this  fear  stayed 
The  blow  which  else  his  own  blind  soul 

had  seared. 

When  from  his  mind  it  was  as  if  a  shade 
Passed   suddenly   away,    and   all   seemed 

plain. 

His  gaze  grew  gentle,  and  hers  unafraid. 
Fool  have  I  been,  he  said;   yet  thy  will  vain: 


LAND  OF  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE     91 

Idol  or  doll  have  made  thee;  as  thy  lord, 
Now  have  I  forged,  now,  slave,  have  felt,  thy 

chain, 

Even  as  the  beast  in  me  thou  hast  abhorred 
And  starved,  or  siren-like  appeased.    Hence 

strife 
Hath  been  betwixt  us,  —  though  with  ghosts 

we  warred. 

Now  let  us  stand  up  equals,  man  and  wife, 
Neither  obeisance  making  save  to  truth, 
And  live  shamefast,  yet  not  ashamed  of  life. 
He  ended ;  but  with  melancholy  ruth 

The  woman  smiled.     Yea,   be  betwixt  us 

truce, 

She  said.     /  saw  thy  vision  in  my  youth; 
But  see  the  beast  in  thee  that  breaketh  loose 


92      LAND  OF  DESIRE  LAID  DESOLATE 
Ever,  —  and     ever     shall;     and     see  —  oh, 

frail!  — 

My  heart  still  wooing  that  death-sweet  abuse. 
Wearily  she  spake;   but  at  her  babe's  faint 

wail, 

Leaning  unto  the  downcast  m?n,  she  said : 
To  question  what  shall  be,  what  doth  avail? 
Hark,  our  babe  hungers!     Work!  that  we  have 
bread. 


MICHELANGELO  93 

MICHELANGELO 

Gli  occhi  miei  vaghi  delle  cose  belle 
Mine  eyes  desirous  of  all  fairest  things, 
And  even  so  my  soul  of  her  reward, 
In  having  these  adored, 
Gain  their  one  virtue  that  to  heaven  wings. 
From  the  high  stars  there  springs 
A  splendor,  hither  flowing, 
Which  thither  desire  brings, 
And  men  call  Love,  unknowing. 
Nor  cometh  Love,  all-glowing, 
Into  the  gentle  heart,  save  from  a  face 
Within  whose  eyes  those  stars  have  left 
their  trace. 


94  MICHELANGELO 

MICHELANGELO 

Per  qual  mordace  lima 
By  what  corroding  file 

Are  thy  worn  trappings  fretted  still  and  frayed, 
Invalid  soul  ?  When  shalt  thou,  by  time's  aid, 
Break  free?  —  to  wing  again  where  thou 

above 
Wast  pure  and  glad  erstwhile. 

I  hide  not  from  thee,  Love, 

Even  that  I  have  envy  of  the  dead. 

***** 
Lord,  in  mine  hour  of  dread, 
Reach  unto  me  Thy  merciful  arms ;  oh,  take 
Me  from  myself,  and  one  to  please  Thee  make ! 


AT  THE  LAST  JUDGMENT  95 

AT  THE  "LAST  JUDGMENT 

(The  Wandering  Jew  speaks:  — ) 

I  may  repent  me  yet,  and  live?    How  kind 

Is  then  this  Christ !    How  cunning  is  this 

God! 

How  He  hath  trained  His  puppets  to  believe 
The  strings  they  dangle  from  their  own  ac 
cord; 

Aye,  so  to  love  bondage  that  threat  of  free 
dom — 

Which  they  call  death  —  sufficient  is  to  bring 
The  bravest  of  them  to  his  shaking  knees  ! 
But  in  His  eager  vengeance  hath  this  God 
In   me   overreached   Himself :    what   makes 
their  life 


96  AT  THE  LAST  JUDGMENT 

Dear  unto  men  —  that  they  may  lose  it  when 
They  know  not,  the  sad  sweet  uncertainty 
Which  gilds  with  golden  possibilities 
Their  leaden  outlook,  —  that  He  lifted  from 
My  life :  I  knew  that  I  should  never  die. 
Felt  ye  what  pity  is,  ye  who  still  prate 
Ever  of  pity,  ye  should  weep  to  hear 
Those  words,  —  /  knew  that  I  should  never  die! 
And  yet  the  Torturer  was  not  satisfied. 
Unwilling,  whilst  Earth  lasted,  unto  life 
Was  I  bound  hand  and  foot.     Jerusalem 
Fell ;  from  her  ruins  I  escaped,  alone 
Unbruised.     Rome  the  giantess  fell ;  I  stood 
Beneath  the  falling  statue ;  it  fell,  and  crushed 
Me  not.     I  plucked  the  beard  of  Attila, 
Hater  of  men ;  but  he  smiled  on  me,  and 


AT  THE  LAST  JUDGMENT  97 

I  lived.     Fool !  I  have  rent  me,  thinking  so 
Life  must  be  startled  from  me.     I  have  leapt 
Into  the  flaming  womb  of  JStna ;  where 
I  with  the  Giants  roared  ten  months,  until 
The  laboring  monster  gave  me  birth  again, 
Curled  to  a  seething  ember,  yet  —  alive. 
I  have  cohabited  with  poisonous  toads 
And  snakes  deadly  to  all  save  me ;  they  stung, 
And  the  sting  rankled,  but  destroyed  me  not. 
I  took  a  leprous  woman  to  my  bed ; 
She  died ;  and  the  ten  sons  she  bore  me  died, 
Lepers ;  and  still  I  lived,  and  men  forsook 
Me  not,  although  my  shadow  was  the  Curse. 
And  yet  the  Torturer  was  not  satisfied. 
For  now  He  says,  I  may  repent  me  yet, 
And  live  !    And  says,  that  God  is  pitiful ; 

G 


98  AT  THE  LAST  JUDGMENT 

But  even  so  saying,  lies.     If  God,  He  is 
Without  pity ;  if  pitiful,  He  is 
No  God.     Pity  is  sorrow  born  of  sorrow ; 
Weakness  consoling  weakness ;  the  sad  sense 
Of  woes  conjointly  to  be  borne.  —  To  live, 
And  in  His  Heaven  ?    Aye,  if  I  repent ! 
But  I  have  had  my  fill  of  life.     Besides, 
I  live ;  I  am  immortal  as  Himself ; 
Haply  —  who  knows  ?  —  He  mortal  as  I  am. 
Like  the  stark  Indian  cobra,  to  and  fro, 
Sleepily  beating  out  His  rhythm  of  days, 
His  arm  sways  now  —  what  if  it  pause,  or 

strike 
At  His  own  life?    That  were  a  boon  might 

bribe 
Submission  !    Nothing  else  avails,  O  Christ. 


THE  BALM  OF  PEACE  99 

THE  BALM  OF  PEACE 
"Let  us  have  peace!"  we  clamor,  man  to 

man, 

Mistaking  in  our  weakness,  Lord,  Thy  plan. 
Nature,  revealing  Thee,  does  not  abhor 
Atom  with  atom  continually  at  war : 
Her  law  is  one  for  all  —  Survive  who  can. 

We  journey,  each  of  us  a  caravan 
Of  selves  that,  like  a  lawless  gypsy  clan, 
Brawling  and  wrangling  still,  will  never 
more 

Let  us  have  peace. 

And  all  thy  world's  an  army,  in  whose  van 
There  rides  beside  thee  Life  the  conqueror ; 


100  THE  BALM  OF  PEACE 

Only  far  in  the  rear,  grim  guardian 

Of  them  that  are  soul-wounded  and  heart- 
sore, 

Death   will   respond   when   bloodless   lips 
implore  — 
"Let  us  have  peace  !" 


SPRING  101 

SPRING 

(After  Heine) 

Brightly  the  ripples  glimmer  and  gleam  — 

Loving's  so  lovely  in  spring. 
The  shepherdess  sits  beside  the  stream 

Sweet  flowers  garlanding. 

They  blossom  and  burgeon  in  odorous  bliss  — 

Loving's  so  lovely  in  spring. 
From  her  deep,  deep  heart  sighs  the  shep- 
erdess, 

"For  whom  is  my  garlanding  ?" 

A  cavalier  rides  along  the  stream ; 
He  greets  her  so  gallantly  bred. 


102  SPRING 

The    shepherdess    follows    with    eyes    that 

dream ; 
Far  flutters  the  plume  on  his  head. 

Into  the  tide,  all  tearful,  mute, 

She  drops  her  posy-ring, 
Of  love  and  kisses  the  nightingales  flute  — 

Loving's  so  lovely  in  spring. 


DEMOS  TRIUMPHANT  103 

DEMOS  TRIUMPHANT 

Prospero  touched  the  lips  of  Caliban ; 

And    to    speech,    calling,    answered    timid 

thought, 
Which  made  the  loutish  fingers  deft,   and 

taught 
The    fierce    heart    patience.     Shrewd    the 

master's  plan ; 

But  on  a  day  was  lifted  the  long  ban 
Of  fear,  —  when  the  wand,  broken,  no  spell 

wrought, 

And  Ariel  vanished.     Then  the  master  sought 
Where  he  had   left   a  slave,   and   found   a 

man. 
And  Prospero  was  afraid,  expecting  death 


104  DEMOS  TRIUMPHANT 

From  one  he  thought  mad  with  remembered 

wrong ; 

And  cursed  his  broken  wand  and  vagrant  elf. 
But  Caliban  said  gently :  "Of  thy  breath 
Was  born  the  spirit  which  has  made  me 

strong. 
Caliban  spares  thee  lest  he  shame  himself. " 


SEVEN  SANDWICHMEN  ON  BROADWAY    105 

SEVEN  SANDWICHMEN  ON 
BROADWAY 

Shuffling   and   shambling,   woebegone,   they 

pass, 

Seven  in  single  file,  and  seven  as  one,  — 
As  if  a  spectrum  of  all  woe  the  sun 
Here  cast  through  some  bewitched  prismatic 

glass. 
From  their  stooped  shoulders,  back  and  fore, 

hang  crass 

High-colored  chromos  of  a  stage  mignonne 
In  tights,  astride  a  grinning  simpleton 
Squat  on  all  fours,  and  long-eared  like  an  ass. 
' '  Success  !"     "  Success  !"     we     read  —  yea, 

thy  success 


106    SEVEN  SANDWICHMEN  ON  BROADWAY 

We  read,  O  wanton  among  cities :  vice 
Saddled  on  folly,  woe  beneath  sevenfold : 
Woe  of  the  lust  of  life,  and  the  shameful  price 
Of  life,  —  woe  of  the  want,  the  weariness,  — 
Of  fear,  of  hate,  —  of  the  thrice  false  weights 
of  gold ! 


THE  GLORY  THAT   WAS  SPAIN        107 

THE  GLORY  THAT  WAS  SPAIN 

I  stood  above  Granada,  on  a  height 
Between  Alhambra,  goldenly  aglow, 
And  the  sad  hill  Albaicin,  where  woe 
And   squalor   cower   in    noisome    caves   by 

night. 

Far  down,  the  Darro,  in  its  path  of  light, 
Glimmered  toward  day  now  swiftly  dipping 

low, 

Yet  kissing  with  last,  lingering  rays  the  snow 
On  tall  Sierras,  till  all  the  East  was  bright. 
Brighter  wast  thou,  O  Spain,  at  thy  white 

dawn, 
When  thou  stoodst  firm,  strong  bulwark  of 

Christ's  folk; 


108        THE  GLORY  THAT  WAS  SPAIN 

Ere  from  thy  face  the  Christ-light  was  with 
drawn, 

And  on  thy  neck  was  laid  the  bigot's  yoke. 

Now  between  gilded  show  and  knaves  that 
fawn, 

Thou  sitt'st  at  dusk,  proud  in  thy  beggar's 
cloak. 


ON  "FIRST  AND  LAST  THINGS"      109 

ON  " FIRST  AND  LAST  THINGS" 

TO    H.    G.    WELLS 

You,  a  philosopher  and  famous,  choose, 
You  put  it,  to  believe  that  death  ends  all ; 
Save  that  the  Species  (with  a  capital) 
Goes  marching  on  in  Brobdingnagian  shoes, 
Elate,  along  skull-paved,  broad  avenues 
Unto  some  foreordained  Valhalla  hall, 
Where  girls  are  "fair  and  most  divinely  tall," 
And  god-like  boys  hold  altruistic  views : 
And  then?  —  But  let  that  pass.     Suppose, 

for  you, 

Famous  and  a  philosopher,  to  live, 
Once  life  has  given  the  best  life  has  to  give, 
Were  irksome ;  yet  for  us  that  never  knew 


110      ON  "FIRST  AND  LAST  THINGS1' 

Fame,  us  whose  fair  dreams  never  can  come 

true, 
Who  failed,   or  fell, —what  cheer?    What 

palliative  ? 

We  ask,  indeed,  not  any  palliative 

For  truth;   but  when  you  blandly  urge  the 

view 

Which  leaves  us  comfortless,  and  will  it  true, 
And  praise  it,  that  we  cannot  all  forgive,  — 
We  who  have  somehow  missed  our  chance 

to  live ! 

We  would  not  whimper  to  the  winds,  or  chew 
The  lotus  of  illusion ;  we,  as  you, 
Would  sift  all  things,  though  hope  slip  through 

the  sieve ; 


ON  "FIRST  AND  LAST  THINGS1'      111 

And  if  we  are  worm-bitten  leaves  that  fall  — 
We  others  —  by  our  rotting  to  infuse 
Into  next  season's  foliage  fairer  hues, 
Prof  user  sap,  —  so  be  it :  death  ends  all ! 
But  shall  the  cankered,  bruised  leaf,  grateful, 

call 
Life  good,  or  that  which  made  it  live  excuse  ? 


112    A   HOLY  AND  HUMBLE  MAN  OF  HEART 

"A.    HOLY    AND    HUMBLE    MAN    OF 
HEART" 

GEORGE    RICE    CARPENTER 

He  was  a  brother  to  his  friends,  a  friend 
To  all  in  need.     He  gave  himself,  as  kings 
Strew  gold,  in  little  daily  helpful  things, 
Ungrudging,  while  there  yet  was  life  to  spend. 
Humble  of  heart  and  holy  to  the  end 
He  lived ;  for  in  his  soul  were  Pisgah  springs 
Whereon  God's  shadow  fell,  and  beckonings 
Of  hopes  which  our  mortality  transcend. 
Hardly  we  reached  to  that  shy  soul  of  his, 
So  like  the  tall  Alps  which  he  loved,  aloof 
Like  them  in  quietness,  high  over  earth. 
Yet  without  scorn  he  met  life  as  it  is, 
In  service  putting  his  high  soul  to  proof, 
Womanly  gentle,  lit  by  cleanly  mirth. 


TO  A  POET'  OF   PARADOX  113 

TO  A  POET  OF  PARADOX 

TO    G.    S. 

Dolorous  by  nature,  jovial  by  choice, 
You  dance,  it  seems,  under  the  shade  of  yews, 
Drinking  to  Lethe,  while  your  nun-like  Muse 
Austerely  sings  of  Phryne  and  of  Loys ; 
And  from  your  verses  speaks  a  dubious  voice, 
Which    gives    both   consolation   and    "the 

blues," 

Crying  to  men  that  starve  for  hope — Refuse! 
Commanding  men  that  half  despair  —  Re 
joice  ! 

Refuse,  —  for  only  they  that  covet,  want ; 
Rejoice,  —  how  futile  are  the  thoughts  which 
haunt 


114  TO  A  POET  OF  PARADOX 

A  mother  at  her  first-born's  passing-bell ! 
Renounce,  —  envy  it  is  that  leaves  life  gaunt. 
—  Yet  I  am  weak ;  or  else  you  sing  too  well : 
For  envy's  born  when  your  verse  sounds  its 
knell. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  HOUR  115 

THE  CHILDREN'S  HOUR 

As  we  staid  elders  at  the  children's  hour 
Give  out  some  riddle  stale  long,  long  ago, 
And  listen  amused,  as  down  the  eager  row 
In  turn  each  tries  his  (Edipean  power  ; 
So  sit  the  indulgent  Gods ;  before  them  our 
Most  sapient  masters  of  all  those  who  know. 
Just  now  one  Nietzsche  guesses.     La  Roche 
foucauld 

Applauds ;  and  Voltaire  nudges  Schopenhauer. 
Again  the  Delphian  drawls  his  question :  ages 
To  ages  echo  each  response ;  and  men 
Painfully  harken.  Meanwhile  old  Vulcan  nods ; 
The  Cyprian  plays  Minerva,  souls  for  gages ; 
Jove  kisses  Psyche ;  Cupid  pouts  —  and  then 
Peals  the  low  belling  laughter  of  the  Gods. 


116  HOMO  SUM 

HOMO  SUM 
Unto  a  dying  man  there  entered  three. 

"Turn  thou  to  Allah :  Allah  gives  delight 
In    dreams  of   beauty  through   a  dawnless 

night/' 

Thus  one.     The  second  :  "  Everlastingly 
To  woe  art  thou  reborn,  that  will'st  to  be : 
Swoon  thou  in  Buddha,  putting  out  thy  light." 
He  ceased.    The  third  :  "  Love  is  His  gracious 

might 

Whose  Word  am  I :  blessed  who  heareth  me!" 
Yet  clave  that  spirit  to  its  earthen  shell, 
Those  three  thus  answering :  "  Delight  nor  rest 
Nor  the  still  contemplation  of  the  blest 
I  crave,  who  dream  no  heaven,  dread  no  hell ; 
I  am  a  man,  to  a  man's  tasks  addressed : 
Give  me  a  new  task,  masters,  —  a  new  zest." 


THE  BEATITUDE  OF   DANTE  117 

THE  BEATITUDE  OF  DANTE 

"Si  die  m'ha  fatto  per  moW  anni  macro" 
Dante,  not  supine  in  ecstatic  swoon 
Held'st    thou    communion    with    the    Love 

which  moves 

The  sun  and  other  stars :  not  so  behooves 
Man    to    abjure   his    manhood.     Late    and 

soon 

Thy  gentle  heart  besought  as  for  a  boon 
Service;    believed  he  serves  God  best  who 

loves 
Life,  —  who,  still  holding  fast  the  good,  yet 

proves 
All   things,  —  and   else   were   recreant   and 

poltroon. 


118  THE  BEATITUDE  OF  DANTE 

Unto  this  end  sweet  Lucy  made  her  prayer ; 
Gentle  Matilda  washed  thy  spirit  clean ; 
Pure  Beatrice  led  up  the  mystic  stair  — 
That  thou  might'st  know  where  lies  man's 

true  demesne ; 

Which  is  not  yet  where  angels  have  no  care, 
But  in  such  loving  toil  as  left  thee  lean. 


EDEN  BOWER  119 

EDEN  BOWER 

Idol  and  doll  he  has  made  her;    he  has 

bowed 
His    neck    before    her,    petted    her,  —  and 

shamed. 

Spreading  his  nets  of  passion,  he  has  tamed 
Her  singing  spirit,  love-lured  from  the  cloud ; 
Till   she   has   walked   beside   him,   humbly 

proud 

To  be  his  shadow  while  the  world  acclaimed, 
His  cheering  sunshine  if  the  world  defamed, 
Her  own  life-hunger  meekly  disavowed. 
Under  love's  spell  she  feels  herself  how  frail, 
Her  heart  how  wooing  love's  death-sweet 

abuse  — 


120  EDEN  BOWER 

The  fair  false  glamour,  and  the  old,  old  tale 
Of  tears ;  yet  if,  heart-weary,  crying  a  truce 
With  love,  she  rends  the  sacred  bridal  veil, 
Love  smiles,  —  and  bends  her  to  his  wonted 
use. 


CHILDREN  SLAIN   TO  THE  IDOLS      121 

"WHEN    THEY    HAD    SLAIN    THEIR 
CHILDREN  TO  THEIR  IDOLS " 

She  seems  embodiment  of  fairest  dreams  — 
Of  Brunhild's  majesty  and  Dian's  grace ; 
She  might  have  been  a  Maenad  once  in  Thrace, 
Or     walked     with     Sappho     through     still 

Academes. 

Reflected  in  her  brooding  eyes  are  gleams 
From  brighter  worlds  than  roll  in  star-lit 

space ; 

Maid  Mary's  meekness  glorifies  her  face  ; 
Him  whom  she  smiles  upon,  her  smile  re 
deems. 

Friend,  sister,  daughter,  wife  —  no  claim  of 
kin 


122      CHILDREN  SLAIN  TO   THE  IDOLS 
Or  call  of  kind  has  found  her  deaf  or  loath : 
With  purest  love  she  has  kept  perfect  troth. 
Yet  soiled  is  all  this  temple  with  one  sin : 
Medea  slew  her  children,  being  wroth ; 
This  woman,  calmly,  hers  that  might  have 
been. 


THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH      123 

THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH 

(A  "MEREDITHYRAMBIC") 

I 

(Prologue) 

A  simple  lout  came  on  a  frozen  snake 
Abandoned  by  its  kind,  —  deaf,  stiff,  stone- 
cold. 
Awhile  he  stared ;  then  pitied ;  then,  grown 

bold, 
Fetched  home  the  creature  dangling  from  his 

rake; 
And  left  it   thawing  — for  sweet   charity's 

sake. 

Now  by  and  by  (dear  God  !  the  tale  is  old) 
By  warmth  and  false  security  cajoled, 


124   TEE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH 

The  lout  nodded,  —  just  as  it  thawed  awake. 
Starved  the  poor  serpent  was  from  all  that 

fasting : 
And  when  the  rustic's  wife,  young,  tempting, 

sweet, 
Stood  on  the  hearthstone  toasting  her  white 

feet, 
How  could  one  blame  His  Snakeship  for  just 

tasting  ? 

—  Sure,  it  had  been  ungracious  to  be  wasting 
Such  evident  hospitality  and  —  sweet  meat ! 

II 

(Tertium  Quid) 

To  speak  to  her,  to  breathe  one  word  of  this, 
So  to  uplift  for  them  the  veil  which  yet  — 


THE  SERPENT  ON   THE  HEARTH      125 
Perhaps  —  masks    the   mute    yearning,    the 

regret 

I  read  forever  in  their  eyes  that  kiss ; 
To  tell  her  to  her  face  she  does  amiss ; 
Babble  of  duty ;  bid  her  heart  forget 
That  it  beats  love  —  oh,  so  were  to  abet 
Propensity's  self,  to  lean  o'er  the  abyss  ! 
Then,  must  I  hold  my  peace  while  they  two 

drift 

Farther  and  farther  on  that  passionate  tide  ? 
Not  clutch  her  hand  before  the  surge  runs 

swift? 
— -  Blindfold,  this  way  and  that  my  thoughts 

go  wide ; 

I  stand,  shaken  between  this  doubt,  that  shift ; 
Yet  still  dissemble,  tutored  so  by  pride. 


126      THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH 
III 

(Indulgences) 

She  grows  solicitous  in  my  behalf : 
Smiles;    speaks  caressingly;    consults  mine 

ease  ; 

Protests  she  loves  me ;  studies  how  to  please ; 
Angles  with  kisses  for  a  fugitive  laugh  ; 
Daily,  to  feed  me  kills  the  fatted  calf,  — 
Herself  the  Prodigal !    So  to  appease 
Possible  jealousy,  of  her  drained  love's  lees 
Pours  these  libations,  wherein  I  should  quaff 
Contentment !  —  Madam,  you  play  a  foolish 

part: 

For  'tis  a  practice  most  idolatrous, 
Faith  wanting,  by  good  works  to  seek  salva 
tion. 


THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH     127 

Come,  act  the  Luther  to  your  Papist  heart : 
Burn  its  Indulgences,  —  such  reformation 
Alone  might  win  our  Eden  back  to  us. 

IV 

(Pique) 

Light  friends  have  rallied  her.    I  heard  their 

jest, 
Stupid   enough,   God   knows !    yet  pointed 

too,  — 

If  to  have  pierced  my  shell  of  vanity  through 
To  the  live,  bleeding  quick,  be  any  test. 
She  gave  no  sign:    a  stranger  might  have 

guessed 

Her  the  unkindly  used  one  of  us  two. 
I  bit  my  lip ;  frowned  ;  without  more  ado 


128   THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH 

Turned  on  my  heel;  so  left  them,  self-con 
fessed, 

I,  of  the  heinous  fault  of  being  absurd. 

Their  laughter  rippled  after  us ;  she  talked, 

Gravely,  of  this  and  that ;  I,  not  a  word. 

Ridiculous  in  dignity  I  stalked, 

Cranelike,  ahead.  By  and  by  chanced  our 
Third: 

He  and  she  paired,  of  course;  behind,  I 
walked. 

V 

(A  Trick  in  "  Hearts  ") 

Why  must  they  look  on  one  another  so  ? 

As  if  their  eye-beams  twisted  were,  and  came 

Reluctantly  apart,  when  some  vague  shame  — 


THE  SERPENT  ON   THE  HEARTH      129 

Haply  at  my  felt  frown  —  drooped  her  lids 

low. 
Meanwhile  the  cards,   shrewd  dealt,   plead 

"Yes"  and  "No"; 

Her  lips  set  with  the  rigor  of  the  game ; 
She  loses ;  but  her  eyes  make  piteous  claim 
To  sweet  condolence  from  their  smiling  foe. 
My  turn's  to  play ;   and  lest  my  pique  shine 

through, 
I  play,  aye,  play  my  appointed  part  —  his 

foil. 

I  lose,  of  course,  —  must  I  not  take  my  cue  ? 
She,  kind,  commiserates  my  futile  toil : 
"Indeed,   'twas  no  fair  match,"   she  coos: 

"we  two 

For  him,  dear,  are,  it  seems,  too  easy  spoil !" 

i 


130   THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH 

VI 

(Wedding  Bells) 

Care  on  the  anvils  of  my  stunned  sore  brain 

Has  plied  his  busy  hammers  all  night  long. 

His  journeyman-imps,  black-aproned  fancies, 
throng 

The  smithy ;  and  they  pound  to  a  refrain : 

You  her,  her  he,  she  him  —  all  love  in  vain  ! 

They  you,  you  them,  they  one,  you  two  — 
thus  wrong ! 

Hush  then  —  a  bell!  Your  passing-bell  — 
ding-dong ! 

Ding-a-ding,  dong!  —  Nay,  'tis  a  merry 
strain ! 

Seven  months  and  seven  you  lie  there  under 
ground  ; 


THE  SERPENT  ON   THE  HEARTH      131 

Seven  months  and  seven  love  has  foregone  his 

will. 
Ding-dong,     ding-dong !    To     church !    To 

church !     They  sound. 
Pine  not !    Repine  not !     Peace,  poor  ghost, 

lie  still ! 

Cannot  you  see  from  under  your  green  mound 
How  blithe  she  steps,   white-veiled,   across 

God's  sill? 

VII 

(Spleen) 

Nel  mezzo  del  cammin  —  yes,  there  I  stand, 
God  help  me  !  half  inclining  to  halt  there. 
Gone  are  the  most  who  one  time  seemed  to 
share 


132      THE  SERPENT  ON   THE  HEARTH 
The  perils  which  beset  men  in  this  land. 
I  let  them  go ;  I  never  raised  my  hand 
To  stay  them;   proud,  I  would  not  seem  to 

care. 
Yet  not  from  friendships  lost  now  springs 

despair ; 

It  is  a  friend  new-found  has  me  unmanned. 
Alien  is  she  whose  love  was  my  new-birth  ; 
Who  walks  beside  me  with  averted  face, 
Seeing  in  him  all  that  she  holds  of  worth. 
—  Were  't  not  redemption  then  to  yield  my 

place 

Unto  my  friend  ?     I  but  encumber  earth  ; 
He  breasts  the  panting  leaders  in  life's  race. 


THE  SERPENT  ON   THE  HEARTH      133 

VIII 

(Heroics) 

Perchance  to  yield  her  up,  and  yet  not  die, 
And  yet  not  so  much  live,  as  live  a  dream, 
Where  all  that  never  can  be  yet  might  seem 
Forever :  where  forever  she  and  I 
Might  walk  together  as  in  days  gone  by ; 
Or,  sitting  pensive  in  the  ember-gleam, 
I  yet  might  feel  her  touch,  her  breathing  steam 
My  cheek,  and  hear  her  low  sweet  lullaby : 
To  feature  forth  this  vision  in  a  tale 
Perchance,  tender  and  soft  spoken  and  so  sad 
That  reading  it  one  day,  she  might  grow  pale, 
And  half  forget  one  moment  to  be  glad. 
—  Ah,  so  to  lose  were  partway  to  prevail ; 
Unless,  maybe,  men  losing  so  —  go  mad  ! 


134   THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH 

IX 

(Epilogue) 

After  a  while  the  lout  aforesaid  wakened ; 
The  fragrant  smell  of  tea  assailed  his  nose. 
Still  there  before  the  fire,  toasting  her  toes, 
Stood  his  goodwife ;  his  hearth  the  snake  still 

blackened, 

As  stiff  as  if  no  friendly  heat  had  slackened 
Its  frozen  joints.     Determined  to  expose 
Dissembling  treachery,  the  rustic  rose 
And  poked  the  poisonous  creature  with  his 

rake-end. 

It  stirred  not ;  yet  he  cudgelled  but  the  more, 
Till   from  it  many   a  glittering   scale  was 

sloughed, 
And  out  of  it  there  dribbled  on  the  floor 


THE  SERPENT  ON  THE  HEARTH      135 

Great  clots  —  of  sawdust.  .  .  .  "Why,  the 
thing  was  stuffed  !" 

Gasped  he.  His  goodwife  smiled.  "Why 
get  so  huffed?" 

She  said.  "I  could  have  told  you  that  be 
fore." 


136  GUI  DO  CAVALCANTI 

GUIDO  CAVALCANTI 

Chi  e  questa  che  ven  ch'  ogn'  om  la  mira 
Lo  !  who  is  this  which  cometh  in  men's  eyes 
And  maketh  tremulously  bright  the  air, 
And  with  her  bringeth  love  so  that  none  there 
Might  speak  aloud,  albeit  each  one  sighs  ? 
Dear  God,  what  seemeth  if  she  turn  her  eyes 
Let  Love's  self  say,  for  I  in  no  wise  dare : 
Lady  of  Meekness  such,  that  by  compare 
All  others  as  of  Wrath  I  recognize. 
Words  might  not  body  forth  her  excellence, 
For  unto  her  inclineth  all  sweet  merit ; 
Beauty  in  her  hath  its  divinity. 
Nor  was  our  understanding  of  degree, 
Nor  had  abode  in  us  so  blest  a  spirit, 
As  might  thereof  have  meet  intelligence. 


GUI  DO  CAVALCANTI  TO  DANTE      137 

GUIDO  CAVALCANTI  TO  DANTE 

ALIGHIERI 

I  come  to  thee  infinite  times  a  day 
And  find  thee  thinking  too  unworthily : 
Then  for  thy  gentle  mind  it  grieveth  me, 
And  for  thy  talents  all  thus  thrown  away. 
To  flee  the  vulgar  herd  was  once  thy  way, 
To  bar  the  many  from  thine  amity,  — 
Then  when  of  me  thou  spak'st  so  cordially 
When  thou  hadst  set  thy  verse  in  full  array. 
But  now  I  dare  not,  so  thy  life  is  base, 
Make  manifest  that  I  approve  thine  art, 
Nor  come  to  thee  so  thou  mayst  see  my  face. 
Yet  if  this  sonnet  thou  wilt  take  to  heart, 
The  perverse  spirit  leading  thee  this  chase 
Out  of  thy  soul  polluted  shall  depart. 


138  PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Voi    ch'    ascoltate  in  rime   sparse    il   suono 
You  who  now  hear  in  vagrant  rhymes  the 

sound 

Of  sighs  wherewith  I  entertained  my  heart 
When  I  was  other  than  I  am  in  part,  — 
Even  in  the  meshes  of  young  folly  bound : 
For  moods  inconstant  wherein  I  compound, 
Weeping,    between    vain    hope    and    vainer 

smart, 
Where  there  is  one  who  knows  by  proof  love's 

art, 

There  may  be  pity,  if  not  pardon,  found. 
Yet  hearing  well  how  on  men's  lips  my  name 
A  byword  has  been  long,  oft  and  again, 


PETRARCH  139 

At  mine  own  self  I  am  myself  dismayed ; 
And  of  my  vanity  the  fruit  is  shame, 
Yea,  and  repentance,  and  discernment  plain 
What  things  men  joy  in  are  as  dreams  that 
fade. 


140  PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Lasso,  ben  so  die  dolorose  prede 
Alas,  I  know  what  pitiable  prey 
Death,  which  exempteth  none,  soon  makes  of 

all; 

How  quickly  on  the  world  our  memories  pall  ; 
How  little  while,  and  faith  is  put  away. 
Now  on  my  spirit  thunders  the  Last  Day  ; 
I  see  for  my  long  woe  compassion  small ; 
Yet  will  not  Love  render  me  up  withal, 
Neither  due  tribute  to  those  eyes  delay. 
The  days,   the  hours,   the  moments  —  how 

they  hale 

The  years  away,  I  know ;  nor  am  bewitched 
Save  by  a  might  much  more  than  magic  arts. 


PETRARCH  141 

'Twixt    will    and    reason    has    been    battle 

pitched 
Seven  years  and  seven ;  yet  shall  the  higher 

prevail, 
If  prescience  be  of  good  in  mortal  hearts. 


142  , PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Dodici  donne  onestamente  lasse 
Twelve  ladies  all  un  want  only  at  ease, 
Rather  twelve  stars  and  in  their  midst  a  sun, 
I  saw  embarked,  joyous,  with  others  none, 
Nor  know  when  this  craft's  equal  cleft  the  seas. 
Not  such  was  Jason's  when  he  sailed  to  seize 
That  fleece  of  gold  all  are  now  fain  to  don, 
Nor  his — the  swain  who  left  Troy  woebegone; 
Though  the  world  ring  with  bruit  of  both  these. 
And  her  I  saw  on  a  triumphal  van  — 
My  Laura  with  her  proud  pure  mien  —  anon, 
Sitting  apart  and  singing  a  sweet  song,  — 
A  thing  not  earthly,  a  vision  not  of  man. 
Happy  Tiphys,  happy  Automedon, 
To  pilot  so  delectable  a  throng  ! 


PETRARCH  143 

PETRARCH 

Movesi  il  vecchierel  canuto  e  bianco 
As  wends  the  aged  goodman  hoar  and  pale 
From  the  sweet  spot  where  passed  his  prime 

away, 

And  from  the  little  household  in  dismay, 
Which  from  its  sight  sees  the  dear  father  fail  ; 
While  he  along  his  shrunken  limbs  must  trail 
In  these  last  labors  of  his  earthly  day, 
On  his  good  will  leaning  as  best  he  may, 
Broken  by  years  and  by  the  way  worn  frail ; 
And  comes  to  Rome  pursuant  of  his  quest 
To  look  upon  the  semblance  of  that  One 
Whom  to  behold  in  heaven  he,  hoping,  waits : 
So  I  alas  !  go  seeking  off  and  on, 
Lady,  so  much  as  may  be,  in  the  rest 
Your  own  desired,  veritable  traits. 


144  PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Quando  fra  V  altre  donne  ad  ora  ad  ora 

When  among  other  ladies  day  by  day 
Love  cometh  in  her  countenance  divine, 
By  all  she  doth  in  beauty  all  outshine 
Grows  the  desire  which  holds  me  in  its  sway. 
Blessed  the  place  and  time  and  hour,  I  say, 
Mine  eyes  first  lifted  were  to  that  far  shrine ; 
Again  I  say,  Give  thanks,  O  soul  of  mine, 
That  this  high  homage  thou  wast  chosen  to 

pay. 
From  her  there  comes  to  thee  that  thought  of 

love 
Which,  so  thou  follow,  leads  to  highest  good, 


PETRARCH  145 

Making  seem  small  the  things  on  which  men 

brood ; 

From  her  that  grace  of  soul  is  understood 
Which  beckons  the  straight  way  that  leads 

above : 
So  that  already  high  in  hope  I  move. 


146  PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Tra  quantunque  leggiadre  donne  e  belle 

When  among  ladies  howso  fair  and  bright 
She  comes  who  in  the  world  has  not  her  peer, 
With  her  fair  face  she  makes  of  others  near 
What  makes  the  sun  of  every  lesser  light. 
Close  at  mine  ear  seems  Love  then  to  alight, 
And  say:  "The  while  this  one  abideth  here, 
Shall  life  be  sweet ;  and  afterward  how  drear, 
And  all  worth  lost  with  her  and  all  my  right. 
Should  nature  moon  and  sun  from  heaven 

ban, 
Winds   from   the   air,    grasses   from   earth's 

green  side, 
Yea,  and  intelligence  and  speech  from  man, 


PETRARCH  147 

And  from  the  sea,  fish  and  the  liquid  tide  ; 
No  lonesomer  were  all  things  or  more  wan 
Than  if  her  eyes  death  should  seal  up  and 
hide." 


148  PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Se  lamentar  augelli  e  verdi  fronde 

If  birds  are  plaining,  or  with  gentle  sighs 
Midsummer  breezes  through  green  branches 

glide, 

Or  raucous  murmurs  of  bright  waters  rise 
To  the  cool  flower-enamelled  riverside 
Where  at  my  writing,  pensively  I  bide : 
Then  her  whom  heaven  vouchsafed  us,  earth 

denies, 

I  see  and  hear,  and  know  she  has  not  died, 
But  from  afar  unto  my  plaint  replies. 
" Wherefore  untimely  wilt  thou  pine  away?" 
All  pitiful  she  says ;   "and  why  still  shed 
From  so  sad  eyes  these  waters  of  dismay  ? 


PETRARCH  149 

Nay,  weep  not  thou  for  me :   my  days  were 

made, 

Dying,  eternal ;  and  to  an  inward  ray 
Mine  eyes,  that  seemed  to  close,  were  opened." 


150  PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Gli  angeli  eletti  e  V  anime  beate 
The  chosen  angels  and  the  spirits,  blest 
Citizenry  of  heaven,  that  first  day 
My  lady  passed  among  their  bright  array, 
About  her,  worshipful  and  wondering,  pressed. 
"What  splendor  is  this?    what  bliss  new- 
manifest?" 
Each  whispered  each.     "From  where  men  go 

astray 

Never  in  all  this  age  hath  winged  its  way 
Spirit  so  fair  unto  this  place  of  rest." 
She,  in  her  soul's  new  dwelling  gladsomer, 
There    paragons    those    God    hath    highest 
placed ; 


PETRARCH  151 

And  nathless  now  and  then  she  turneth  her, 
Looking  if  I  still  follow,  and  goes  slow-paced ; 
Wherefore  each  wish,   each  thought  I  sky 
ward  spur ; 
Because  I  hear  her  pray  that  I  make  haste. 


152  PETRARCH 

PETRARCH 

Levommi  il  mio  pensier  in  parte  ov'  era 
My  thought  upbore  me  unto  where  she  was 
Whom  upon  earth  I  seek,  nor  find  again : 
There,  in  that  sphere  which  moveth  to  Love's 

laws, 

I  saw  her,  lovelier  and  of  less  disdain. 
My  hand  she  took,  and  said  :  "Here  shall  we 

twain 

Yet  joined  be,  unless  desire  deceive; 
She  am  I  who  thee  brought  to  such  long  pain, 
And  mine  own  day  fulfilled  ere  it  was  eve. 
My  weal  is  more  than  mortals  understand : 
I  wait  but  thee,  and  that  thou  hast  loved  so, 
My  veil  of  beauty,  harbored  there  below." 


PETRARCH  153 

Ah,  wherefore  ceased  she  and  let  go  my  hand  ? 
For  at  those  words  so  tender  and  unstained, 
Little  there  lacked  that  I  in  heaven  remained. 


154  GALEAZZO  DA   TARSIA 

GALEAZZO  DA  TARSIA 

Camilla,  che  ne  lucidi 

Camilla,  thou  who  in  those  still  and  clear 
Fields  of  the  sky  a  new  star  art  reborn, 
And  leav'st  me,  but  remembering  thee,  to 

mourn, 

Lacking  thy  comfort  in  the  darkness  here, 
To  me  from  time  to  time  thou  drawest  near, 
Pitiful,  yet  in  the  glory  of  thy  new  morn 
Such  that  I  scarce  may  look  upon ;  forlorn 
Then  am  I  left  the  more,  as  thou  more  dear. 
Hadst  thou  but  stricken  both,  O  Death,  how 

far 

Less  fell  thy  stroke!  and  I  how  fortunate, 
Who  now  alas  !  wait  where  no  fair  things  are. 


GALEAZZO  DA   TARSIA  155 

Pray  thou  Our  Lord  —  since  men  disdain  or 

hate  — 

Pray,  O  my  saint,  that  I  who  once,  elate, 
Plucked  thee,  a  flower,  may  see  thee  yet,  a 

star. 


156  LORENZO  DE'   MEDICI 


LORENZO  DE'  MEDICI 

THE   ENAMOURMENT 

Fair  ladies  to  the  music  moved  their  feet, 

Dancing,  sweet  love  atingle  in  each  breast. 
Fair  youths  I  saw,  and  maidens  shyly  meet, 
And  hands  by  hands  one  instant  softly 

pressed, 

Glances  and  signals,  sighs  —  love's  art  com 
plete,  — 
Brief  words,  whose  meaning  but  one  hearer 

guessed, 

And  many  a  flower  let  fall  with  innocent  art, 
To  be  caught  up,  kissed,  hidden  next  some 
heart. 


LORENZO  DW  MEDICI  157 

Amidst  the  pleasures  of  that  brilliant  place 
My  lady  fair,  my  lady  of  delight, 

Outgracing  all,  yet  lending  all  her  grace, 
Stood  in  a  garment  of  transparent  white. 

Pleading  in  parlance  mute  and  rare  the  case, 
With  her  eyes  to  my  heart,  of  love's  high 
right : 

—  Come,  said  she  unto  me,  dear  heart  of 
mine; 

Here,  here  is  peace  for  every  will  of  thine. 


158  HONOR  THY  FATHER  AND  THY  MOTHER 

"HONOR  THY  FATHER  AND  THY 

MOTHER" 
"  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother,"  saith 

the  letter  of  the  Law. 
Is  it  duty?   and  may  duty  touch  the  secret 

springs  of  awe  ? 

He  that  made  the  parent  sacred  hath  not 
made  the  child  abject : 

All  the  Decalogues  of  Heaven  cannot  legis 
late  respect. 

Honor  is  but  honor's  guerdon,  else  the  Hebrew 

prophet  lied : 
God    avengeth    not    the   parent   when    the 

parent's  will  was  pride. 


HONOR  THY  FATHER  AND  THY  MOTHER    159 

Cursed  be  the  social  custom  by  whose  canons 

it  is  styled 
Criminal  to  sell  a  slave,  lawful  to  enslave  a 

child. 

Bought  and  sold  in  open  market  —  and  we 

others  laugh  outright  — 
Man's  own  flesh  and  blood  for  money,  man's 

own  soul  for  appetite. 

Yes,  it's  marriage.     She  is  happy.     And  the 

Turkish  bride  is  so  ! 
Both  are  bred  up  to  the  harem,  both  too 

ignorant  to  know. 

Riches,  titles,  creature  comforts  —  these  she 
has  been  taught  to  prize : 


160  HONOR  THY  FATHER  AND  THY  MOTHER 

Speak  to  her  of  love,  she  simpers, — truth, 
she  droops  incurious  eyes. 

Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother  for  a  heri 
tage  like  this ! 

God  hath  spoken?  —  God?  or  devil?  Man 
hath  often  heard  amiss. 


RIVERSIDE  161 

RIVERSIDE 

Windless  waters  roll  aglaze 
Under  smoke-swept  purple  haze 
Streaked  with  long,  slant,  lurid  rays. 

Heights  across  the  river  seem 

Drifting  off  like  hills  of  dream, 

On  which  silvery  steam-wraiths  gleam. 

Eerily,  as  daylight  dies, 
Motor-cars  with  nightmare  eyes, 
Scuttle  past  with  croaking  cries ; 

Soon  like  monstrous  spiders  run 

Over  shadow  cobwebs  spun 

By  trees  naked  'neath  the  moon. 

L 


162  RIVERSIDE 

Where  dim  buildings  loom  aline, 
As  from  many  a  cliffside  shrine, 
Lights  in  cavelike  chambers  shine. 

Past  the  moon-path  in  midstream 
Lithe  tugs  leap  with  sudden  scream ; 
Huge  squat  barges,  beam  to  beam 

Like  slaves  fettered,  three  and  three, 
With  the  slave's  pace,  patiently 
Bear  their  burdens  to  the  sea. 

Earthward  now  the  young  moon  slants ; 
Troops  of  laughing  stars  advance, 
While  the  myriad  shore-lights  dance. 

Nature  so  glad  vigil  keeps ; 
And  with  solemn  beauty  steeps 
The  soiled  city  while  it  sleeps. 


NIGHT-PIECE  163 

NIGHT-PIECE 

Over  the  river  on  shadowy  heights 
Come  dancing  forth  the  far  shore-lights 
Like  fairies  on  midsummer  nights. 

And  the  moon  with  smiling  countenance 

Acts  chaperon  as  the  stars  too  dance 

To  the  tunes  the  west  wind  piping  chants. 

O'er  the  tired  city  that  lies  adream, 
The  skies  as  with  a  presence  gleam 
Of  angels  stooping  to  redeem. 

Like  jewelled  censers,  to  and  fro 
Sway  budded  bushes  that  palely  aglow 
Through  many  a  bloom  sweet  incense  blow. 


164  NIGHT-PIECE 

A  scowling  cloud  has  scattered  the  stars ; 
The  moon  pales,  prisoned  behind  mist-bars ; 
Close  by,  a  man's  bitter  laughter  jars. 

He  is  telling  of  want,  of  vain-sought  jobs ; 
While  the  young  girl  with  him  softly  sobs. 
— Like  a  fevered  pulse  this  parched  ah*  throbs! 

A  woman  reels  by,  half  dazed  with  drink ; 
Close  to  her  side  two  wee  tots  shrink. 

—  These  lights,  how  like  evil  eyes  they  wink  ! 

***** 
Black  night  has  buried  the  stars  and  the  moon; 
And   dismal    and   shrill  drones    the  wind's 

bassoon : 
For  the  wind's  turned  east,  and  it's  out  of  tune. 

—  God  pity  man's  life :  it's  out  of  tune  ! 


LOVE  IS  LIFE  165 

LOVE  IS  LIFE 

For  home  and  wife  —  since  love  is  life  — 
He  made  him  ready  to  fight  his  fight ; 
But  soft  arms  held  him  tight. 

Beat,     drum !    shrill,    fife !  —  yet    love    is 

life.  — 

He  dreamed  of  his  famous  victory ; 
But  a  babe  clung  'round  his  knee. 

Far,  far  from  strife  —  where  love  is  life  — 
He  lies  beneath  where  the  wild  bee  sips ; 
And  a  smile  is  on  his  lips. 


166  THE  PLEDGE 

THE  PLEDGE 

Year  after  year  I  drank  my  toast  to  Wealth  ; 

And  Wealth  replied:    To-morrow  is  yours 
and  mine! 

Peering  one  day  into  the  golden  wine, 
I  saw  a  wizened,  yellow  face  inside. 

Year  after  year  I  drank  my  toast  to  Fame ; 

And   Fame  replied:     To-morrow  is  yours 
and  mine  ! 

Peering  one  day  into  the  ruby  wine, 
I  saw  a  face  flushed  red  with  bitter  shame. 

All  humbly  then  I  drank  a  toast  to  Love ; 

And  Love  replied :  To-day  is  yours  and  mine  ! 

I  peered  that  day  into  the  sparkling  wine,  — 
A  radiant  face  smiled  back  at  mine  above. 


THE  ROUND  OF  PLEASURE  167 

THE  ROUND  OF  PLEASURE 

Squirrel,  squirrel,  in  your  wheel, 
Tell  me,  squirrel,  do  you  feel, 
Whirling,  whirling,  idly  busy, 
Never  bored  or  never  dizzy  ? 
Will  that  walled-in,  steep,  blind  alley 
Open  in  some  pleasant  valley 
One  day,  think  you  ?     Or,  each  time 
On  that  mo  tor- wheel  you  climb, 
Do  you  leave  (in  fancy)  home, 
And  where  fancy  leads  you,  roam, 
Over  tree-tops,  dawn-dyed  rosy, 
Into  hollow  tree-trunks  cozy, 
Crunching  acorns,  cheerily  chattering, 
Over  velvet  mosses  pattering, 


168  THE  ROUND  OF  PLEASURE 

Till  when  tired  fancy  flags, 
And  your  motor-wheel,  spent,  lags, 
Back  again  at  your  own  door, 
Glad  to  settle  down  once  more, 
You  alight  then  ?     Little  brother, 
I  too  have  just  such  another 
Wheel,  which  racing  in,  I  measure 
Hours  and  hours,  and  call  it  pleasure. 
Yet,  small  friend,  between  us  two, 
I  get  very  bored.     Do  you  ? 


THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  LEAVES       169 

THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  LEAVES 
When  drear,  sear  days  creep  in  like  thieves, 
Sisterly  kind  are  the  golden  leaves : 
Through    long,    warm,    simmering    summer 

noons 
They  have  dipped  from  the  sun  with  their 

emerald  spoons : 

Now  their  hoarded  sunshine,  scattering,  stays 
The  famine  of  these  lean  fall  days. 


170         TO  AN  EMPTY  LOCUST  SHELL 
\ 

TO    AN    EMPTY    LOCUST    SHELL    IN 
AUTUMN 

Stark  shell,  that  late  a  locust  sheathed, 
Chirping  where  sunny  meadows,  wreathed 
With  buttercups  and  daisies,  seethed 

On  summer  noons, 
Now  to  this  willow  trunk  bequeathed 

And  wintry  moons  ; 

You  hollow  mockery  of  nature, 

Perfect  in  outward  form  and  feature, 

Who,  death  mask  of  yourself,  here  teach  your 

Memento  mori, 
How  often  man,  your  fellow-creature, 

Retells  your  story ! 


TO  AN  EMPTY  LOCUST  SHELL         171 

Who  pipes  on  May  morns  white  and  gold 

As  if  he  never  should  be  old, 

But  when  his  autumn  days  grow  cold, 

And  early  dusk, 
Becomes  like  you  a  pithless  mould, 

A  withered  husk. 

Poor  husk,  I'd  like  to  think  your  spirit 

A  fairer  garment  might  inherit, 

And  blithe,  through  sunnier  summers  wear  it 

Where  daisies  blow. 
You  lived,  and  chirped :  what  greater  merit 

Has  man  to  show  ? 


172  THE  THORNAPPLE  TREE 


THE  THORNAPPLE  TREE 

Thornapple  tree,  what  is  the  sense 
Of  wearing  such  a  barbed-wire  fence, 
As  if  you  wanted  to  make  rents 

In  a  chap's  breeches  ? 
I  call  it  just  a  vain  pretence 

Of  secret  riches. 

Now  were  your  apples  fit  to  eat  — 
Tart  Gravensteins  or  Baldwins  sweet, 
Russets  or  pippins,  —  you  might  cheat 

Some  hungry  spirit ; 
But  it's  a  spinsterly  conceit 

In  you  to  fear  it. 


THE  THORNAPPLE  TREE  173 

And  yet  —  who  knows  ?  —  thornapple  tree, 
The  tables  you  might  turn  on  me, 
And  say  I  guard  as  jealously 

Things  I  think  pretty, 
But  which,  if  angels  stooped  to  see, 

Would  move  their  pity. 


174  TO  A  JUNE-BUG 


TO  A  JUNE-BUG 

Patient,  pot-bellied  insect-clown, 
Smug  in  your  Quakerish  suit  of  brown, 
Why  keep  on  cracking  your  poor  crown 

Against  my  shutter,  — 
To  tumble  sprawling  upside-down 

In  such  a  flutter  ? 

No  doubt  it's  dull  there  in  the  gloom  ; 
Yet  if  you  got  inside  my  room, 
You'd  only  flop  about,  and  boom, 

No  whit  the  richer  ; 
Till  in  my  lamp  you  found  a  tomb, 

Or  in  my  pitcher. 


TO  A  JUNE-BUG  175 

To  follow  the  gleam  beheld  afar, 
Or  hitch  one's  wagon  to  a  star, 
Is  well  for  such  as  poets  are ; 

But  life  discloses 
That  we  who  beat  'gainst  nature's  bar, 

Just  bump  our  noses. 


176  LOST 

LOST 

One  hurried  by  me  through  the  mist. 

It  seemed  an  old,  old  man, 
A  little  frail,  infirm  old  man, 

Who  rather  leapt  than  ran. 

A  feather  floating  on  the  air 

Were  not  so  light  as  he ; 
But  as  he  passed,  I  heard  him  breathe 

Like  the  wind  in  a  hollow  tree. 

All  suddenly  he  stopped,  and  turned, 
And  hushed  me  with  his  hand. 

(I  heard  the  breakers  boom  below 
Around  that  high  headland ; 


LOST 

On  that  lone  height  I  saw  no  sight 
Should  make  him  peer  and  peer 

With  red  bright  eyes  that  blinked  bat-wise, 
When  he  was  standing  near.) 

"I  have  scoured  the  wood;   I  have  scoured 
the  field  — 

Wherever  a  lass  might  be ; 
And  now,"  and  here  he  slily  grinned, 

"I  must  go  scour  the  sea  I" 


One  instant  over  his  blank  face 
That  crafty  grin  was  thrown, 

Over  the  skin  like  wrinkled  tin 
Upon  each  lean  cheekbone ; 

M 


178  LOST 

Then  I  clutched  at  the  form;    but  in  the 
storm 

It  vanished  at  one  bound ; 
And  —  God  knows  if  a  stray  loon  laughed, 

Or  a  man  laughed  so,  that  drowned  ! 


HIDDEN  BLESSINGS  179 

HIDDEN  BLESSINGS 
I 

A  dandelion  grew  by  a  grey  stone-wall  ; 
And  grew  and  grew,  till  it  grew  so  tall 
That  it  felt  quite  sure  it  could  by  and  by 
See  over  the  wall  with  its  curious  eye. 

But  though  it  grew  stout  on  sunshine  and 

dew, 
And  wrestled  for  fun  with  all  winds  that 

blew, 

Yet,  stretch  as  it  might  from  root  to  petal, 
The  wall  overtopped  it  still  —  just  a  little. 

And  it  wondered  what  lived  on  the  other  side, 
And  wondered  so  hard  that  it  almost  cried ; 


180  HIDDEN  BLESSINGS 

Till  its  own  green  meadow  looked  mean  and 

small, 
And  happiness  seemed  just  over  that  wall; 

Which  it  scowled  at  by  day,  and  dreamed  of 

at  night, 
Till    its    golden    head    turned    a    ghostly 

white  .  .  . 
When  a  sudden  gale  clipped  those  gossamer 

locks, 
And  blew  them  clean  over  the  barrier-rocks ! 

II 

Just  over  the  wall  it  chanced  there  fell 
One  feathery  wisp ;  and,  strange  to  tell, 
When  the  Spring  came  back,  you  might  have 

seen 
Two  dandelions  now  with  the  wall  between. 


HIDDEN  BLESSINGS  181 

One  was  from  last  year's  root  reborn, 
And  one  was  sprung  from  the  tress  wind-torn ; 
But  both  were  eaten  with  envy  and  gall, 
Because  neither  could  quite  see  over  the  wall. 

For  the  parent's  folly  was  in  the  seed  ; 
And  the  creed  of  the  one  was  the  other's  creed  : 
That  nothing  one  sees  is  really  right 
Compared  with  the  things  just  out  of  sight. 

So  each  one  envied  the  other's  lot, 
And  pined  away  for  it  knew  not  what  .  .  . 
But  I  wonder  though  if  the  farmer's  boy 
Added  more  sorrow  or  brought  strange  joy, 
When  one  day  bent  on  a  chipmunk  chase, 
He  tumbled  the  wall  from  top  to  base  ; 
And  those  envious  weeds  came  face  to  face  ! 


182  ORCHIDS 

ORCHIDS 
"O  Cinderella,  fie!" 
I  hear  Prince  Charming  sigh, 
"Why,  here's  your  crystal  shoe 
All  frozen  stiff  with  dew. 
The  pretty,  mottled  strings 
Are  spread  like  beetles'  wings ; 
The  bright  toe  has  a  crack ; 
And  oh  !  the  satin  back 
Is  trodden  down  quite  flat, 
How  could  you,  dear,  do  that?" 

"0  Cinderella,  fie!" 

I  hear  godmother  cry, 

"How  dare  you  make  my  slipper 

A  sort  of  water-dipper 


ORCHIDS  183 

For  all  the  bugs  in  town 

To  tumble  in  and  drown  ? 

Well,  mistress,  since  you're  proven 

Such  an  ungrateful  sloven, 

I'll  turn  your  slighted  dower  — 

Hey,  presto  !  —  to  a  flower." 


184        THE   UNIMPRESSIONABLE  BEE 

THE  UNIMPRESSIONABLE  BEE 

The  Bee  flew  into  the  Garden, 
Where  the  Rose  sat  wistful-eyed. 

The  Bee  flew  into  the  Garden, 
And  ever  the  Heart's-ease  sighed. 

The  painted  Tiger-lily 

Flamed  in  her  siren  guile ; 
The  Daisy  bobbed  and  curtsied ; 

The  Violet  tried  to  smile. 

The  Sweet-pease  turned  all  colors 
When  the  saucy  Buttercup  mocked ; 

The  Bachelor-button  glowered ; 

And  the  Maidenhair  Fern  looked  shocked. 


THE   UNIMPRESSIONABLE  BEE        185 

Buzz-buzz  sang  the  Bee  in  his  singsong, 

Till  the  Bluebell  tinkled  nigh  ; 
There  was  rapt  applause  from  the  Cowslip; 

Tear-dew  in  the  Bright  Ox-eye. 

The  Foxglove  threw  down  his  gauntlet ; 

The  Dogtooth  bit  his  lip ; 
But  the  Jack-in-the-pulpit  protested 

When  the  Snapdragon  snapped  his  whip. 

The  Bee  flew  into  the  Garden : 
Wear  willow,  sweet  Rose  and  Rue  ! 

For  the  Bee  flew  into  the  Garden ; 
And  —  out  again  he  flew  ! 


186        UNDER   THE  MATRIMONY-VINE 

UNDER   THE  MATRIMONY-VINE 

In  his  morning-glory  the  sunflower  rose; 

The  merry  bluebells  rang ; 
Fantastic  tripped  the  mistletoes ; 

A  paean  the  peony  sang. 

"  Young  marigold    marries    the  maidenhair 

fern/7 

The  wallflowers  whispered,  blue. 
The  heart 's-ease  laughed  in  her  unconcern ; 
But    the    adder 's-tongue    hissed,  —  "She 
will  rue!" 

Sneered    the    big   begonia,  —  "He's   under 
sized!" 
Sighed  the  passion-flower,  —  "He's  cold  !" 


UNDER   THE  MATRIMONY-VINE       187 

But  the  buds  all  dandelionized 
The  dashing  marigold. 

A  jack-in- the-pulpit  published  the  banns; 

They  were  wed  by  a  cardinal-flower. 
The  bride's  lace  veil  was  real  Queen- Anne's ; 

A  pennyroyal  her  dower. 

Sweet  cicely,  primrose,  and  pale  rosemary 
Her  train  of  sweet  lavender  bore  ; 

The  ushers  had  goldenrods  to  carry, 
And  bachelor's-buttons  wore. 

From  pitcher-plants  for  pick-me-ups 

They  drank  old  hollyhock  iced ; 
And  sipped  tea-rose  in  buttercups, 

With  lemon-verbena  sliced. 


188        UNDER  THE  MATRIMONY-VINE 

Then  his  good  horse-chestnut  the  groom  lark- 
spurred, 

And  waved  his  keen  grass-blade ; 
For  tiger-lilies  had  been  heard 

To  growl  in  the  grim  night-shade. 

And  a  lady's-slipper  for  luck  was  shied; 

The  trumpet-weed  blew  a  blast. 
" Forget-me-not !"  then  tulips  sighed; 

Two  ox-eyes  were  downcast. 


CHRISTOPHER  SLY  AWAKES  189 

CHRISTOPHER  SLY  AWAKES 

I  dreamed  a  king,  and  I  seemed  a  king, 
And  I  steamed  in  a  king's  warm  bed. 

Marry ! 
As  a  man  and  a  drinker,  Kit  Sly  the  poor 

tinker 

Had  the  merrier  crown  to  his  head. 
(Says  I  in  the  king's  great  bed.) 

I  was  clean  like  a  king ;   I'd  a  queen  like  a 

king; 
I  could  lean  on  a  king's  gilt  throne. 

Marry ! 

A  tinker's  squat  bench  and  a  tinker's  fat 
wench 


190          CHRISTOPHER  SLY  AWAKES 
Are  likelier  all  his  own. 
(Says  I  on  the  king's  tall  throne.) 

I  was  stripped  by  the  king ;  I  was  tipped  by 

the  king ; 
I  was  shipped  by  the  king's  back-door. 

Marry ! 

I  care  not  a  damn, — not  a  tinker's  damn: 
For  this  being  a  king's  a  bore. 
(Says  I  by  the  king's  back-door.) 


THE  FIRST  PAIR  OF  SHOES  191 


THE   FIRST   PAIR   OF   SHOES:    COB 
BLER'S  SONG 

Home  came  Adam  sore  one  evening ; 
Cain  was  naughty ;  Eve  was  cross. 
(It  was  scrapping,  scrapping  .  .  .  scrap  .  .  . 

scrap  .  .  .  scrapping !) 
"Hang  these  nettles  !"  muttered  Adam, 
"How     they     sting     one!    Come     now, 

Madam, 

Mop  my  feet  with  warm  wet  moss." 
(It  was   mopping,   mopping  .  .  .  mop  .  .  . 
mop  .  .  .  mopping, 
Mopping  with  the  warm  wet  moss  !) 


192  THE  FIRST  PAIR  OF  SHOES 

Abel  heard  the  father.     Abel 

Was  a  knowing  lad,  —  was  he  ! 
(Never  napping,  napping  .  .  .  nap  .  .  .  nap 

.  .  .  napping !) 

Killed  two  rabbits,  skinned  'em,  dried  'em, 
Shaped  'em,  sewed  'em,  turned  inside  'em 

All  the  nice  warm  woolly  fuzz, 
(Just  for  wrapping,  wrapping  .  .  .  wrap  .  .  . 

wrap  .  .  .  wrapping. 
Wrapping  in  the  woolly  fuzz  !) 

Adam  laughed,  delighted ;  Eve  she 

Tittered ;  Cain,  he  scowled. 
(Eyes  all  snapping,  snapping  .  .  .  snap  .  .  . 

snap  .  .  .  snapping !) 
So  the  first  two  shoes  were  cobbled : 


THE  FIRST  PAIR  OF  SHOES  193 

Never  after  Adam  hobbled ; 

Never  Eve's  white  feet  were  fouled. 
(They  went  slopping,  slopping,  slip  .  .  .  slip 

.  .  .  slopping, 
Slopping  not  a  bit  befouled  !) 


194  INQUISITIVE  QUATRAINS 

INQUISITIVE  QUATRAINS 

Would  you  rather  get  busy,  or  fuss, 

When  things  are  looking  bad  ? 

Would  you  rather  your  friend  were  a  cad, 
Or  hadn't  a  fault  to  discuss  ? 

Would  you  rather  have  all  go  well, 

Or  say  —  "I  told  you  so"  ? 

If  I  morally  stubbed  my  toe, 
Would  you  rather,  or  not,  I  fell  ? 

Would  you  rather  be  able  to  frown 

At  my  mote,  or  to  cast  out  your  beam  ? 
Would  you  rather  be  drowned  up-stream, 

Or  once  your  back's  up,  back  down  ? 


INQUISITIVE  QUATRAINS  195 

Would  you  rather  your  country  were  right, 

Or  be  able  to  prove  her  wrong  ? 

Would  you  rather  cry  —  "  Lord,  how  long  ?  " 
Or  take  off  your  coat,  and  fight  ? 

Would  you  rather  St.  Peter  slammed 
Those  pearly  gates  in  your  face, 
Or  find  up  there  in  grace 

Some  folks  your  creed  had  damned  ? 

Would  you  rather  your  aureole 
In  that  blessed  choir  of  God, 
Or  the  loan  down  here  of  His  rod 

To  chasten  your  neighbor's  soul  ? 


196  BELLE-O'-THE-MA  Y 

BELLE-O'-THE-MAY 

"  Marry  in  May, 
Rue  for  aye!" 
These  ravens,  dear,  croak  not  aright 

That  marriage-bells  in  May  ring  rue  ; 
For  rue  is  yellow  and  sour  like  spite  ; 
May  bluebells  are  like  you. 

And  blue's  for  hope  —  so  poets  tell, 
Constant  and  sweet  and  pure  and  true, 

As  is  my  bonnie  own  May-belle 
With  never  a  touch  of  rue. 

With  never  a  touch  of  rue,  wife  dear, 
We  have  gone  hand  in  hand  together 

Along  life's  path  this  many  a  year 
Through  storm  and  quiet  weather. 


BELLE-O'-THE-MA  Y  197 

So  may  we  grow  still  towards  God's  sky 

On  trellises  of  happy  time,  — 
You  like  a  flower,  sun-lit,  and  I 

The  earth-rooted  vine  to  climb. 


198  THE  CITY-CHILD 


THE  CITY-CHILD 

Rain-drops  splashed  on  the  window-panes, 
And  tear-drops  on  his  chubby  cheeks. 

He  heard  the  clock  tick,  tick  —  it  seemed 
The  ticks  ticked  weeks. 

"I  think  'twas  mean  of  the  dear  Lord," 
He  said,  "to  send  me  to  New  York ! 

I'd  go  straight  back,  if  only  I 
Could  catch  that  Stork 

"That  took  me  from  the  Stars  that  used 
To  let  me  ride  in  them,  and  drive ; 

And  where  I'd  lots  of  friends,  and  toys 
That  were  alive. 


THE  CITY-CHILD  199 

"For  my  bear  Petti  John,  that  squeaks, 
My  soldiers,  and  my  hobbyhorse 

Up  there  could  play  with  me ;  but  here 
They  can't,  of  course." 

Wind-gusts  shook  the  window-panes, 
And  weary  sighs  the  little  frame ; 

Till  the  shadows  crept  to  comfort  him, 
And  the  Sandman  came. 


200  THE  LESSON 

THE  LESSON 

He  stood  in  a  neat  back-yard  in  town, 
A  small  boy  rigged  like  "  Buster  Brown," 
Legs  wide  apart,  hands  clasped  behind, 
With  something  plainly  on  his  mind. 
Beside  him  a  small  maid,  whose  air 
Proved  her  just  old  enough  to  care 
If  other  children  were  not  "nice"  — 
Not  meaning  naughtiness  or  vice, 
But  such  as  nurses  lacked,  or  shoes, 
Or  had  dark  skins,  or  might  be  Jews. 
You  must  not  blame  the  little  maid : 
She  only  did  as  grown-ups  said. 
But  neither  nudge  or  frown  could  balk 
Her  brother  of  his  bubbling  talk  : 


THE  LESSON  201 

He  found  them  quite  too  interesting, 

This  pair  of  little  darkies  nesting 

Like  crows  upon  the  high  board-fence, 

Whose  words  seemed  funny,  yet  made  sense. 

Perched  on  the  roof  of  a  wood-bin, 

She  on  bent  elbow  leaned  her  chin ; 

He  on  crossed  arms  :  you  had  surmised 

Them  Raphael's  Cherubs  ebonized. 

After  some  desultory  chat 

And  skirmishings  'round  this  and  that, 

Came,  like  a  bolt,  the  planned  attack : 

"Are  you  so  wicked  why  you're  black?" 

(I    gasped    in    my    window.)     But    quite 

bland,  — 
"Huh,     is    youse    wickeder    when    youse 

tanned?" 


202  THE  LESSON 

He      chuckled.     "  Guess  we'd      match  up, 

skinned.  — 

See  !"     And  the  dusky  youngster  grinned. 
The  other,  though  discomfited, 
Yet  rallied  once.     "And  does,"  he  said, 
"Your  mother  love  you  just  the  same?" 
Unruffled  still  the  answer  came 
In  tones  that  rang  with  confident  joy : 
"Well,  ah  should  smile  !    Ain't  I  her  boy ? " 
—  Just  then  Nurse  called  to  lessons ;  one, 
Perhaps,  already  was  begun. 


A  NICE  (?)    DISTINCTION  203 

A  NICE   (?)   DISTINCTION 

Her  son  had  married  a  fair  lady  friend, 
The  sort  young  fellows  don't  write  home 

about. 
One  soothed:   "It  may  come  right,  dear,  in 

the  end," 

She  said :  "The  Lord's  ways  are  past  find 
ing  out." 
The  mother  sighed:   "But  one  thing  cannot 

mend: 
The    woman's    not    respectable!"    "No 

doubt," 
The  comforter  smiled  back,  "but  then,  she's 

—  well, 
My  dear,  she's  perfectly  presentable." 


T 


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Sacred  and  Profane  Love  and  Other  Poems 

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"Sacred and  Profane  Love,"  the  name  ascribed  by  tradition  to 
the  well-known  picture  by  Titian  in  the  Villa  Borghese,  Rome, 
suggested  the  title.  The  Picture  has  long  been  regarded  as 
symbolical,  likewise  is  the  Poem.  But  the  symbolism  of  the 
latter  is  distinct  from  any  hitherto  ascribed  to  the  Picture  ;  con 
trasting  as  it  does  Worldly  Ambition  with  Spiritual  Aspiration, 
the  Political  career  in  its  lowest  aspect  with  the  Literary  career 
in  its  highest. 

BY  WILLIAM  J.  NEIDIG 

The  First  Wardens  Cloth,  ibmo,  $/.<x>  net 

"  Grace  of  expression  and  clearness  of  thought,  blent  with 
careful,  clean,  poetical  workmanship,  are  the  characteristics  of 
this  little  volume  of  poetry."  —  Chicago  Tribune. 
"  In  rhythm,  in  diction,  in  imagination  and  beauty  of  thought 
Mr.  Neidig  has  seemed  to  us  to  have  been  decidedly  suc 
cessful." —  Richmond  Times  Despatch. 

BY  WENDELL  P.  STAFFORD 

Dorian  Days  ciotk,  izmo,  $1.23  net 

A  volume  of  poems  by  Justice  Wendell  P.  Stafford,  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  District  of  Columbia.  The  title,  Dorian 
Days,  comes  from  the  fact  that  the  beauty  of  ancient  Greece  is 
in  great  measure  the  inspiration  of  the  volume.  This  return  to 
classic  art  and  classic  myths  on  the  part  of  one  who  has  played 
so  prominent  a  part  in  the  life  of  his  own  day  as  Justice  Stafford 
is  particularly  noteworthy. 


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English  Poetry 

Its  Principles  and  Progress  with  Representative  Masterpieces 
and  Notes.  By  CHARLES  MILLS  GAYLEY,  Litt.D.,  LLD., 
Professor  of  the  English  Language  and  Literature  in  the  Univer 
sity  of  California,  and  CLEMENT  C.  YOUNG,  of  the  Lowell 
High  School,  San  Francisco,  California. 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.50  net 

A  manual  for  the  general  reader  who  takes  an  interest  in  the 
materials  and  history  of  the  higher  English  poetry,  and  seeks  a 
simple  statement  of  its  principles  in  relation  to  life,  conduct,  and 
art.  The  introduction  on  "The  Principles  of  Poetry"  aims  to 
answer  the  questions  that  inevitably  arise  when  poetry  is  the  subject 
of  discussion,  and  to  give  the  questioner  a  grasp  upon  the  essentials 
necessary  to  appreciation  and  to  the  formation  of  an  independent 
judgment. 

"The  Introduction  on  'The  Principles  of  Poetry'  should  be  an 
inspiration  to  both  teacher  and  pupil,  and  a  very  definite  help  in  ap 
preciation  and  study,  especially  in  the  portion  that  deals  with  the 
'  Rhythm  of  Verse.'  The  remarks  on  the  different  centuries,  in  their 
literary  significance  and  development,  are  helpful,  and  the  notes  to 
each  poem,  lucid  and  sufficient." — HARRY  S.  ROSS,  Worcester 
Academy,  Worcester,  Mass. 

For  more  advanced  students 

A  History  of  English  Prosody 

From  the  Twelfth  Century  to  the  Present  Day.  In  three 
volumes.  By  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY,  M.A.  (Oxon.),  Hon. 
LL.D.  (Aberdeen),  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Litera 
ture  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  Volume  I  —  From  the 
Origins  to  Spenser. 

Cloth,  8w,  xvii  +  428  pages,  $1.50  net 

"  What  strikes  one  is  the  sensibleness  of  the  book  as  a  whole. 
Not  merely  for  enthusiasts  on  metrics,  but  for  students  of  literature 
in  general,  it  is  a  good  augury  toward  the  probable  clearing  up  of 
this  entire  blurred  and  cloudy  subject  to  find  Omond's  mild  fairness 
and  Thomson's  telling  simplicity  followed  so  soon  by  this  all-per 
vading  common  sense.  .  .  .  The  most  extraordinary  thing  about 
this  volume  is  that,  unintentionally  as  it  would  appear,  the  author 
has  produced  the  one  English  book  now  existing  which  is  likely  to 
be  of  real  use  to  those  who  wish  to  perfect  themselves  in  the  formal 
side  of  verse  composition."  —  The  Evening  Post,  New  York. 


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A  History  of  English  Poetry 

By  W.  J.  COURTHOPE,  C.B.,  D.Litt.,  LL.D.,  Late  Pro 
fessor  of  Poetry  in  the  University  of  Oxford. 

Cloth,  8vo,  $3.25  net  per  volume 

VOLUME  I.  The  Middle  Ages  —  Influence  of  the  Roman 
Empire  —  The  Encyclopaedic  Education  of  the  Church  -- 
The  Federal  System. 

VOLUME  II.  The  Renaissance  and  the  Reformation  — 
Influence  of  the  Court  and  the  Universities. 

VOLUME  III.  English  Poetry  in  the  Seventeenth  Century  — 
Decadent  Influence  of  the  Feudal  Monarchy — Growth  of 
the  National  Genius. 

VOLUME  IV.  Development  and  Decline  of  the  Poetic 
Drama  —  Influence  of  the  Court  and  the  People. 

VOLUME  V.  The  Constitutional  Compromise  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century  —  Effects  of  the  Classical  Renais 
sance —  Its  Zenith  and  Decline  —  The  Early  Romantic 
Renaissance. 

VOLUME  VI.    The  Romantic  Movement  in  English  Poetry. 


"It  is  his  privilege  to  have  made  a  contribution  of  great 
value  and  signal  importance  to  the  history  of  English  litera 
ture."— /W/  Mall  Gazette. 


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THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


NQV19 


APR  : 

G    5    1916 
APR    IS  1 

MAR  17  1931 


30m-l,'15 


266955 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


